


Bad Thing

by Gladrial, HenchwenchesForHire, RisqueSno



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Amusement Parks, Corruption, Developing Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Expanding on canon, F/M, First Dates, Foreshadowing, Grocery Shopping, Grooming, Harley is a bad psychiatrist, Modern touches, Normalization of an Abusive Relationship, Office, Sexual Content, Sleepovers, Smoking, Therapy gone wrong, mindgames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gladrial/pseuds/Gladrial, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenchwenchesForHire/pseuds/HenchwenchesForHire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisqueSno/pseuds/RisqueSno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Harleen Quinzel stumbles into significant problems when her notorious patient starts using her like a skeleton key. The worst part? She's kind of digging it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> RisqueSno: Due to computer troubles, I wrote the first 1,372 words of this by cell phone text to Gladrial, in two sittings. Don't do that. It hurts really bad. In fact, my hands ache thinking about it. Gladrial was also a huge help with the story for this and one whole exchange later was written directly from her acting it out on webcam for me. Hilariously.
> 
> (Title was inspired by the song "I've Done A Bad Thing" by Ellen Reid, which I listened to quite a bit while writing this.)

He hadn't said when, or how, or where. He hadn't even really said what exactly was going to happen, just that…it was. Seriously, all he had told her was "It's going to happen kid. Keep those baby blues open."

No context whatsoever, but after their months of sessions, of memorizing every nuance of his voice and quirk of his eyebrow, Harleen knew better than to mistake it for an offhand remark. She knew better than to dismiss any of his suggestions to her, especially now.

Certainly she could do no further harm to her career by listening to him. Not after the events of the past two weeks.

A doctor becoming involved with their patient was forbidden. A doctor involved with their patient, who was also a resident of the violent psychopath ward and a notorious serial killer was…

Crazy.

Filling her mug with the third cup of coffee for the day, Harleen had the same talk with herself that she'd been putting on a loop since the first flutter in her stomach she'd recognized as attraction.

_Don't go there Harley. You're being perfectly rational. He makes sense. You know that. But you are the one in a position of authority here. You are the one in control of the situation and you are a woman doing what you need to do in order to get ahead. Do what is best for Harley._

One, two, three packets of fake sugar went into her coffee. She missed real sugar and slapped herself mentally when her eyes cut to the box of donuts on the counter across the break room. Instead, she poured two itty bitty cups of fake creamer into her now mostly fake coffee.

Sipping bitterly from her way too bitterless mug, Harleen used her free hand to remove the pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her white doctor's coat. _Two left_ , she sighed heavily at herself. Well, it wasn't like she was doing cartwheels anymore. In high school and under-grad, she'd had junk food as her secret vice, burning off any stress eating calories during her constant gymnastics training. But it only took two weeks of grad school for her to spot with horror that, without her previous exercise regimen, those chips and snack cakes weren't melting away anymore. Seemingly her entire study group that first semester was smokers and it didn't take long for her to pick up the habit. If anything, it kept her hands busy and helped her fit in.

A door to the breakroom led to the ill-kept balcony of the stone facility that was the semi-official smoking area. Apparently, before Harleen's time there, the staff that worked night and day with maniacs were allowed to smoke and drink coffee or eat lunch without being exposed to the elements. But, like everywhere, changing times eventually reached even the island tucked away in Gotham and Harleen was hardly ever without company on the little balcony, bundled up in a pathetic attempt to ward off the cold until the ritual inhaling was complete.

The sun was setting though, and only a couple of other doctors pulling overtime seemed to be around to take advantage of the view. The first doctor she saw was Doctor Schaffer, who was the current primary for Jervis Tetch. He was lighting a cigarette for Doctor Ferdinand, who was based within the pharmaceutical lab.

Harleen, feeling way too anxious to make conversation, gave a polite nod and moved to the opposite corner of the small space. She sat her red mug down on the rickety metal table with prominent rust buildup, and set about to lighting her own cigarette as steam from her coffee rose into the cool late march air.

Taking her first inhale and relaxing significantly upon the exhale, she gazed out at the Gotham skyline and reached with her free hand for her coffee. Nothing like nicotine and caffeine before returning to the dreaded desk full of paperwork.

She was wrapped up in the familiar acts of her balcony visits and wasn't paying any mind to the background chatter of the other two doctors…until she heard Doctor Ferdinand say "the Joker" and she felt her breath catch.

"Just walking him out at this time of day?" Doctor Schaffer was asking the pharmacist, incredulous. "Was there something wrong with him, or a team of guards covered in blood?"

Doctor Ferdinand shook her short black curls, pushing smoke from pursed lips. "Nope, none of that. Two escorting guards. All three were calm. Like…I think maybe nobody was meant to see. I wouldn't have even been there if I didn't need some files from Arkham. Place was dead quiet."

Cigarette dropped and coffee abandoned, Harleen was beside Ferdinand in what felt like an instant, startling Schaffer enough that he started coughing around his imported cigarillo.

"Where were they heading?" Harleen asked urgently, before Ferdinand had been able to say anything to her.

"Um, the west corridor of the psychiatry staff offices, I guess?" she managed to answer, before adding, "Shouldn't you be there too?"

"YES!" Harleen shouted, already rushing through the door back into the breakroom.

There was no noise in the stone hallway aside from the rapid click of her heels and the beating of her heart. Her mind was going as fast as her legs. What in the world could they be doing with her patient so late in the day without her knowledge or presence? She hadn't worked her way up to this assignment after a freaking year to just be disregarded like that.

She almost tripped taking a corner, in front of some orderlies, but swiftly regained her footing and continued on. She must have looked like a mess, with her bun coming apart and her coat flapping around her when she picked up enough speed. She nearly ran into a secretary of some kind outside of the legal department, carrying a stack of papers that thankfully did not go flying everywhere.

Were they trying to get him to give up some kind of information? There was fat chance of that succeeding, unless they had something worthwhile to offer him in return. He was already kept on a severely short leash at the asylum anyway; there wasn't a whole lot they could get away with giving him.

A disciplinary meeting didn't make sense either, because…well, he didn't care, so it would be pointless. And none of these possibilities should be going over her head in the first place! Yeah, so she was twenty-seven, the youngest doctor treating a member of the infamous rogues gallery, but she was still given an official position deserving of respect.

…Of course, she was also a last ditch effort on the asylum's part too, but still, STILL!

There was, of course, the worst reason. The one that sunk to the bottom of her stomach like a weight: That they knew about the two of them being involved. They had been careful, but there was always the risk. Even though it was just those last few sessions which were the most damning, when it had finally crossed the line from flirtation to action.

Up ahead, under the humming fluorescent lights, lay a corridor of office doors: the ones opposite from the collection that housed her own office, of course.

A quick glance at the nameplates told her who she _wasn't_ looking for, at least. Browning cut out at five on the dot; Carlyle was on vacation for another week; she had seen Gupta go to his car earlier…

…Davis. That asshole!

His door was right there, but not guards. Regulation for the Joker was guards outside and inside, unless for confidential matters, like therapy sessions. _There is no harm in checking_ , Harleen told herself, and Davis was an asshole after all, so she stepped forward to open the door and begin some sanctimonious raging.

She knew as soon as she pushed the door handle down that something was wrong. Bad wrong. There were sounds of scuffling and fists hitting flesh that had been muted from the hallway. The door swung open on a horrific scene.

The remains of a wooden chair and a guard, whose blood was pooling onto the blue rug from a gaping head wound, were immediately before her. A second guard was slumped to the side of a large desk, equally bloodied and motionless. A doctor, Kendall, was face first on the desk, arm hanging limply off the side and the insides of his head escaping in a slow drip for the ruined carpet.

In the middle of it all was the Joker, slamming Davis in the head with a very bloody metal stapler and, before Harleen could even take in what was happening, he pulled the trigger on one of the guard's guns.

The bullet shot through Davis' already battered skull and embedded itself somewhere on the wall by the door. Having been a foot and a half from Davis' head, Harleen found herself splattered with its contents and stared in growing alarm at her arms and hands. Though she had spent years studying crime scene photos and eyewitness testimony, she had never seen carnage first hand. Smelled it. Had it dripping off of her skin and clothes in red and pink.

Her ears were pounding full of her own heartbeat and she could no longer hear even her own breathing, but it didn't matter because the Joker wasn't talking to her. He was busy rummaging through the recently fallen doctor's coat. Warily, she stepped back on shaky legs and tried to decide if she should run. Before she could do anything of the sort, the Joker pulled out a staff badge and wallet, then turned towards his psychiatrist.

"There you are," he said casually, as if she was expected and not standing there covered in blood and gray matter. Perhaps taking in account her horrified expression, he nudged Davis's dead body with his slipper-clad foot. "Nothing to worry about, Harleykins. They were doing an independent review of my apparent progress under your _care_." A giggle escaped him briefly, then he snapped his eyes back to her. His grin was on full display. "Oh, Doctor Harley…I do _love_ you in red."

Her voice was gone, but he didn't seem to expect her to say anything in response. The wallet and badge disappeared between the waistband of his pants, probably tucked in the elastic of his briefs since he wasn't allowed pockets. Harleen's gore-covered arms felt numb now, as if they were no longer a part of her, and she discovered that her legs were stone when the Joker began walking towards her.

"Okay, pumpkin pie," he started, standing in front of her in all of his height and holding the gun loosely in his right hand. "Now I've gotta have some assistance."

"…What…what," Harleen stammered, feeling dazed. Her gaze slid back towards the collection of bodies littering the office, but the Joker suddenly placed his hands on either side of her face and, bending down slightly, forced her to look at him straight.

"Nuh-uh. Focus on me, cupcake." The cold metal of the handgun and the soft warmth of his flesh were all she felt. "Tell me where our last dearly departed doctor parks his car."

"Car?" she asked, trying to force words to make sense.

The Joker frowned, looking at her with a puzzled expression. "Yeah, car. His car. What the fuck is wrong with you?" The fingers of his left hand made a few finger snaps in front of her nose, making her blink, before moving back to hold her face. "Which parking section?"

"Uhm, he drives a black car…Mercedes!" she added, in a tumble of words. The Joker was smiling again. "Parks in the C section, by, uhm, by the west exit."

He relinquished her face, giving a little pat to her cheek with the hand not holding a gun. "There we go, Harl. Such a peach." She turned as he made his way past her and into the hallway, throwing a simple, "See you soon, macaroon!" over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RisqueSno End Notes: This first chapter functions more as a prologue, you can expect further chapters soonish. There is a definite end too, so don't worry about me leaving it to rot unfinished. Second chapter is already on a roll. Gladrial will be snapping at my heels!
> 
> Since I know you're going to ask about it, Harley is a smoker in this fic because there is a panel of the Mad Love graphic novel, while she is a doctor, where she is in fact smoking. My theory is that she stress eats in high school and as an undergrad, then after she becomes a villain she picks up junk food again. (As seen in Gotham Sirens.) But, as a graduate student, intern, and doctor, she smokes. So...there.


	2. Chapter 2

As was procedure for an escape, especially of the Joker, the asylum was put on lockdown. The security camera footage of the corridors along the west side of the building were pulled up and showed the precise route he'd taken out, killing one other guard during his exit and clipping another with Doctor Davis' car while racing through the security gate. The car was found abandoned several blocks from the bridge out of Arkham Island and all the relevant alerts for the Joker being at large went out over the police, and presumably vigilante, airwaves.

It had taken three hours for Harleen to convince them she was fine. All she wanted to do was go home! But she had to complete a written account of what had happened and repeat the story to at least three separate parties. After a quick shower, to rid herself of the blood covering mostly her legs **,** she changed into a plain white t-shirt and pair of navy blue sweat pants that were handed to her by Doctor Leland, who got them from who knows where. At least it wasn't an inmate uniform.

"Doctor Arkham says that he wants you to go home," Joan had told her as she was exiting the shower facility in her borrowed clothes and hosed off heels. "And that he wants you to take as much time as you need off."

"I'm not taking days off," Harleen said, pinning her damp hair back up into a bun while they walked. "I'm not letting them see me rattled."

Joan let out a sigh. " _Anyone_ would be rattled after going through that. It's expected. It's the healthy response. Just take a day or two off, please?"

Harleen crumbled at the worried expression on Joan's face. "...Fine. But _only_ one day. I can't afford to just let it get to me like that. Not here."

The asylum tried valiantly to get her to accept the GCPD's offer of a security detail for the night, but she repeatedly turned them down. "If he wanted to kill me tonight," she had said to the detective that asked her for the thousandth time, "He would have."

When she finally got to her car, they insisted on having security check it for explosives first. She repeated the "If he wanted me dead" thing, but it didn't help. Driving through the exit checkpoint, she saw the damage that had been done when the Joker drove through earlier. There was even a bit of blood still splattered on a post, presumably from where he hit one of the guards in the side.

So, after umpteen hours of work followed by witnessing murder, Harleen at last trudged out of the elevator (thankfully free of neighbors) and down the hall to her apartment door, letting herself in with the full intention of collapsing straight into her bed. She had no idea what she was going to do to fill up the next day though. Her job was her entire world; her only plan was getting ahead in it, making it to the life of a pop psychologist. There were no hobbies, there was no _anything_ , outside of her work. How was she going to fill some twelve-odd hours?

Nine steps from her apartment door, she heard a faint sound. The corridor was empty besides her and, two steps later, she realized it was a television. Coming from beyond her apartment door. It was _her_ television. A brief second passed where she tried to remember if she had turned it off before leaving for work that morning, from when she was watching the news over her granola cereal. She'd never left it on before exiting, but concluded in the following second that it was possible. There had been a lot on her mind the last few days, she could have forgotten.

But, for the second time that night, she had opened a door and been confronted with something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

The Joker was in her apartment. _In her apartment._ Laying on her couch in his bright orange inmate uniform, still splattered with dried blood from his victims, and casually shoveling a handful of crackers into his mouth from a box. There were several diet soda cans on the coffee table by him and the television was flickering with bright colors from the cartoon he was watching. He turned his head to look at her, smiling as he chewed.

"Honey, you're home," he drawled around his mouthful.

He moved to a sitting position after a moment of watching her stare, open-mouthed, allowing the box of crackers to tumble to the carpet. "I hope you intend to turn around and go to the store. Reduced-fat crackers taste terrible."

"You're…here. How did you…why are…," Harleen stuttered, finding herself yet again unable to decide on the right question when faced with so many possibilities.

Thankfully, the Joker seemed to take mercy on her and replied, in order, "Yes Doctor Observant, I am. I flew here, my arms are tired. And why not?"

"You can't be here," she hissed, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper, suddenly feeling that there was an army of listeners right outside in the hall. "What if someone stops by or a neighbor knocks at the door or - "

"No," he said simply, laying back to his previous position on the couch, long white arms folded in front of him. "None of that's going to happen."

"But-"

"Nobody is going to come here, Harley." It was a statement delivered in a cold, knowing tone that closed Harleen's mouth and made the grip on her keys tighten. Of course no one would come. No one ever came, as he well knew. Silently, she berated herself for allowing too much of her personal life, including how lonely she had been, into his therapy sessions.

Feeling the need to act as if his appearance in her home wasn't terrifying, Harleen moved mechanically to the kitchen area beyond, depositing her keys and purse on the bar by the phone. For a brief second, she stood staring at the refrigerator trying to decide if she should...what, offer him something? He seemed to have helped himself already. She got herself a bottle of water from within and turned around in what she hoped was a nonchalant way, but probably appeared spastic.

He was still on the couch, munching on the crackers again. He had turned the channel to GCN and was watching the breaking coverage of his own homicides. It was surreal. Is that what he did when he escaped after a crime? Watched news reports about himself? Of course, she had known he was vain enough that it was probably so, but theorizing it was different than seeing him actually sitting there engaged in the activity. _On her couch._

Feeling another surge of panic bubbling, Harleen quickly unscrewed the plastic bottle and took a very long sip. Then another. She felt her mind straying back to "Joker is on my couch HOLY SHIT" territory and quickly scrambled for another momentary distraction. This was provided immediately in the form of a blinking light on her phone, indicating she had a message waiting.

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE

FIRST MESSAGE

"Harleen, this is Jeremiah. Joan said that she talked to you about this already, but I wanted to make sure that you felt okay with taking some time off. Joan said that you agreed to a day, but...I mean, think about taking a few more days. It's alright if you don't, I just want you to know that it's understandable. I'll see you when you get back."

END MESSAGES

The electronic woman's voice cut off with a beep and Harleen looked up from where she had been staring at the white granite counter-top, her eyes moving automatically to the top of the Joker's head. He was propped up against two of her burgundy throw pillows and had turned the black sofa at a slight angle, presumably to see the TV better. He had changed the channel to an old sitcom, one she didn't recognize immediately, but the news was still on in a small window at the corner of the screen. The picture was showing the post splattered with blood, surrounded by crime scene tape.

Reaching to her purse for a cigarette, she discovered that there was, still, just one left in the package. Fumbling with the lighter, she was finally able to inhale a glorious mouthful of smoke. It did little to decrease her tension, but the exhale was enough of a welcome release that she closed her eyes for a second and heard only the laugh track from the television and the light trickling of that little fountain she had setup last weekend in the corner of the dining area. So that the corner would have something, anything.

The moment was brief, but it was enough to put a series of thoughts into action. The Joker was intending to stay the night in her apartment. This couldn't be helped, so he would need the things one would normally provide a houseguest with... not that she'd ever had one. Moving on autopilot, cigarette held carefully between her middle and index fingers, Harley gathered an extra pillow and a blanket from her bedroom closet, stopping briefly by her bathroom cabinet to pull the second of three toothbrushes from the pack and a half-full tube of travel size toothpaste. The pile was deposited unceremoniously on the loveseat near the sofa, the Joker abandoning the television to watch as Harleen nervously picked up the toothbrush and toothpaste after a second and instead sat them on the coffee table.

Avoiding his eyes, she returned to her room with her cigarette and bottled water, finishing the former while pacing and finishing the latter with a couple of sleep aids. She was drowsy before she even finished brushing her teeth, probably owing to her infrequent use of the over the counter pills and general exhaustion. At least they were slowing her brain down enough to even _think_ about shutting her eyes.

Slipping into the first thing she grabbed from her dresser drawer, a blue nightshirt it turned out, Harleen heard the television rapidly changing channels outside in the living room. Laugh track, news pundits, laugh track, applause, crime drama. News again, this time focusing on a hostage situation earlier in the day involving the Scarecrow and Batman. On unsteady legs, Harleen moved away from the dresser and to her bed, a four-poster she had bought immediately after landing her last promotion, sliding underneath the cotton sheets and pulling the burgundy comforter up to her chin as if it were a barrier.

She always slept on the right side, facing inwards, and from there she couldn't help but stare at the doorknob of her closed bedroom door. The noise from the television was fainter now and she tried to decide whether to risk locking the door. It would be a simple action, drowned out by the television, but it wouldn't stop him. Not if he wanted in. She still had no clue how he'd broken into her apartment to begin with.

Harleen was terrified in that moment, on the verge of sleep. Not for what he might do if he came to her in the night, but what he would expect from her if he did.

* * *

_The last few sessions with him in Arkham had been...charged. The Joker had moved closer to her while speaking, probing, and proselytizing. He was witty and charming, with expressive, wild gestures even while handcuffed. He had been speaking to her about life, the answer to it all, long fingers of his white hands on the couch cushion, right beside where her left rested._

_Their fingertips had touched._

_Flushed, she had considered pulling her hand away and changing the subject, but he was leaning in and his voice was low. Intimate. A loose green curl was escaping over his brow, falling over one hooded green eye. "You see," he was concluding, "I'm the only one who gets the joke. Life is a stage that nobody is giving a damn about using for entertainment. There is no existence, Harley, only the show."_

_She kissed him. Once, before pulling back, hand over her mouth in shock at her career-ending impulsiveness. They stared at each other for another full heartbeat, her aghast; him smiling. Belatedly, she realized he had a strong hold on her left wrist at the same time he yanked her forward._

_They had spent the remainder of the session like horny teenagers left home alone for the first time. His wrists were still cuffed, but Harleen had slid between his arms and made no attempt to stop him when his hands moved down to cup her behind. She hadn't been with a guy in...a year and a half. Two years, easy._

_And in those blissful moments, nothing bothered her. Not the thought of getting caught by the guards right outside, not losing her reputation, and not that the man she was practically grinding against was a killer._

_But, with the cuffs and the guards and her position, she felt safe. Felt safe to listen to his philosophies and pour her heart out to him. He wanted to share and he wanted to have her share. If at any moment she wanted to pull the plug, there was a safety net of armed guards and her word against his. Three sessions of feeling completely in control._

* * *

Harleen curled up tighter underneath the covers, her eyes no longer able to stay open. She thought maybe she had taken two of the pills when it should have been one, but she wasn't near as worried about that as she was the possibility of the Joker coming to her in the night. And expecting something from her that she wasn't prepared to give outside of the safety and control of the asylum.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thought she had was of warmth, cocooned in a mass of soft sheets and heavy comforter. She pulled the pillow closer to her face and attempted to get back to the oblivion of dreamless sleep, but there was sunlight peeking through her blinds and the sudden, jarring realization that the Joker was probably still in her apartment.

_Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit!_

That was the mantra in her mind as she scrambled to work herself free of the bedding, kicking wildly and nearly tumbling off the edge of the bed. A quick glance at her cell on the nightstand told her that it was nearly eleven in the morning and her right hand flew to her mouth. He had been in her living room for, like, _ever!_ Those stupid pills had knocked her out and she had to go out there and…

Taking a deep breath, Harleen chose an immediate task: Get dressed. She wasn't about to walk out in a nightshirt, with no makeup, and her hair all everywhere. She couldn't let him see her like that. But she also couldn't go out in her work clothes, because that would look all kinds of suspicious. Okay, casual. She had casual clothes! She could do casual.

Moving with deliberate calmness, Harleen rummaged through the antique reproduction chest of drawers opposite the foot of her bed, casting aside several shirts with dismay before landing on a black faux-wrap number that tied in the back. Not too dressy, not too casual. Throwing it on her bed, she moved to her closet, flipping through the rows of tasteful, knee-length business skirts and tailored slacks, finally hitting her small selection of jeans. Most were like new, since she hardly ever had cause to wear them, and the gray pair she eventually pulled out was no exception.

Falling into the motions of dressing was easy and soothing. She found herself dragging it out, though, dreading the moment she had to open that door and face her houseguest. Bra, panties, eyeliner, lipstick, mascara. She swept her blonde hair up in a ponytail, twisted it, and shook it just slightly before pinning it into a messy bun, so that the loose strands fell perfectly around her face.

She had killed thirty minutes doing just those things, somehow.

There was a long pause as she looked at herself in the mirror above her chest of drawers, attempting to brace herself. For a moment, she thought she was going to turn towards the door, but her hands instead went to her jewelry box and pulled out her little pearl earrings, matching necklace, and a silver bracelet with little red stones.

Having done that, she looked around desperately for another thing to possibly accomplish. Shoes! Moving at a pace that could be considered akin to a snail's, she pulled a pair of black ballet flats from her closet and slid them on. She stared at the flats for a good thirty seconds, then taking another quick glance in the full length mirror by the door, reached for the knob.

The Joker was slouched on the loveseat, body angled towards her bedroom door. One foot was up on the arm and the other was planted firmly on the hardwood floor. There was a soda can held loosely in his right hand, long arm dangling off the edge of the cushion.

She had expected him to be watching television or something, but not…waiting for her so _obviously_. She remembered how to breathe after a second and managed to spit out a really lame, "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," he responded automatically, staring at her in a way that made her think, for just a second, about escaping to the bathroom. "You know, I've been knocking around here on my lonesome for hours. Was starting to feel _unwelcome_."

The emphasis put on the last word worried Harleen. It worried her a lot. He was capable of absolutely anything and she had, of course, immediately made him irritated. "Sorry, I didn't intend for you too," she apologized, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. Casual, casual, casual. An idea popped into her head, remembering some of his comments the night before. "Do you want me to go get you some things to eat? You said that my selection wasn't to your liking-"

He sat up so fast that she gave a little jump. "Perfect!" he exclaimed, leaning towards the coffee table and knocking some trash around in search of something. Harleen noticed that the pile had grown bigger in the night. "I had a pen somewhere…"

"I'll write it for you," she offered quickly, moving towards her desk against the other wall for some paper and something to write with. When she turned around with them, he was smiling and Harleen let out a mental sigh of relief.

"Okay, what did you want me to get?"

The list was long, filled with sugar, and sometimes he couldn't remember brand names so he'd end up describing foodstuffs with terms like "goopy" or "crunchified".

Eventually, Harleen gathered her purse, phone, and sunglasses, leaving for her errand while the Joker began flipping through the channels again.

* * *

The two-story supermarket was artificially bright and crowded with mid-day shoppers: hungover college kids, elderly couponers, and stay at home moms toting around kids not old enough for school. After pausing for a moment at the rows of grocery carts, Harleen instead made her way to the back of the store, trying not to look conspicuous by rushing. It had hit her as she walked into the building that not only did she have to use the restroom, but she should do so immediately because there was no EARTHLY WAY she was going while the Joker was in her apartment. What if he heard? It was unthinkable.

Eventually, she was working her way up the aisles, pushing the stupid metal cart that kept veering left, her black purse tucked neatly into the baby-seat by the handle. One by one, cookies to pies, she filled up the cart with pretty much the biggest pile of junk food she had seen since Megan Lambert's sleepover in the seventh grade. She had received only a couple of odd glances, and one ringing endorsement from an enthusiastic four year-old, but held up her head high and continued undaunted.

Time was of the essence, after all.

The girl at the register did look at her with slightly raised eyebrows, once the endless sweets began rolling down the conveyer belt and it was apparent that there was, in fact, no actual food. Harleen pointedly ignored her and began watching the screen where the total was adding up, though she decided to instead dig for her credit card once it passed the three digit mark. She wasn't surprised, having bought mostly brand name products provided on the list, but it was still more than she'd spent on groceries in...actually, in ever. And there wasn't even anything she was going to eat herself!

After getting her bags into the cart with the help of the cashier, who looked like she was dying to ask the obvious question, Harleen made an absolute beeline for the cigarette counter. She stuffed three packs into her purse after paying, a fresh cigarette between her lips already. She wasn't going to light it until she was in the car, but ended up with her lighter in her hand the moment her heels hit the sidewalk.

It had been a little under an hour since she had walked out of her apartment, and Harleen was understandably nervous about what the Joker's temperament would be inside. She had gone as fast as she could, as well as gotten most everything on the list, so hopefully everything would go smoothly. Loaded down with several bags, Harleen fumbled with her keys at the knob, dropped them, and decided to knock softly with her foot.

After a few moments where she assumed he was getting up and then checking the peep hole, the door opened to the Joker, with a very pleased smile...and the guard's gun from the previous evening held casually in his right hand. "Oh, a delivery for me," he commented in a lilting tone. "You shouldn't have."

Then he stood still for a moment, turning his head right and left to peer down the hallway. "Huh," he exclaimed quietly to himself, giving what seemed to be a satisfied nod.

Confused, Harley asked, "What?" while attempting to continue holding all of the straining plastic bags.

"Nothing, apparently," he replied. "How weird is that?"

With no further explanation, he divested her of the first few bags on her right arm and headed towards the kitchen with them. Harleen dipped down for her fallen keys and followed him, trying to ignore the glock that he had absently laid on the bar near the phone.

"So, I think I got everything," Harleen said in an attempt to fill the silence, arranging a stack of pies in a shelf on the fridge. "But maybe you have an idea about lunch? Like, I think I have stuff for ham sandwiches or I can make this mac and cheese..."

She turned to look at the Joker, who was investigating a grocery bag full of different fun size candy packages at the bar. "Yes, those sound fine," he replied with a shrug, ripping open one of the packages and gathering a handful. With the other hand he picked up the gun. Watching him wander back over to the couch, Harleen sighed and continued putting the groceries away, wondering how she ever thought she might get through the rest of the day with a mad man at the reins of her schedule.

Before she had finished making the macaroni and cheese, he had gone through half of that candy bag, a third of another, and a large cupcake. He was munching on potato chips before she could even finish putting his ham sandwiches (he had requested two) together. She eventually handed him his plate of macaroni and cheese, with one sandwich partly across the other, and before she got back to the sofa with her own small bowl and ice water, he had inhaled one sandwich almost completely.

"You must have quite a metabolism," Harleen noted, pulling the coffee table closer to set her drink on. She was dismayed to find all of her coasters gone and settled for setting the glass upon a folded paper towel that was among the growing pile of refuse. She decided that a clean-up would be her task after eating.

"Have you _tasted_ the food at Arkham?" the Joker commented dryly, shoveling a full spoonful of artificial yellow into his mouth. Actually, she hadn't, because she had _heard_ how bad the food was and always brought her own. Before she could admit this though, he narrowed his eyebrows and said, "Speaking of Arkham, aren't you supposed to be at...work or something?"

Harleen paused in her stirring of pasta and turned to stare at him, not really knowing how to answer. "Of course!" he barked out, suddenly, gesturing to himself with his free hand. "You brought your work home!"

Heaven help her, God _forgive_ her...Harleen laughed. Actually, she snorted into her hand and nearly dropped her bowl onto the new grey jeans. The Joker was grinning knowingly at her as she dropped her hand, finding that hiding her smile was futile. Quickly, she put some mac and cheese into her mouth, but found herself grinning around the spoon.

"There's that smile," he commented with a triumphant tone. "I knew it was somewhere between your nose and your chin."

Jesus H. Christ, the man was determined to get giggles out of her. And, again, he succeeded. While her laughter was subsiding, the Joker swung his long legs onto the sofa and settled his head on the armrest, continuing to eat from the plate now balanced his chest.

"Well," he said after a brief second of her staring at him, "I guess we should get our session over with, then." Harley remained quiet, her brain attempting to process whether he was joking or not. "You should get your notebook," he added helpfully.

 _So, not joking, then_ , she concluded.

She placed the bowl of macaroni that she had barely begun on the coffee table, expecting that it would be meeting with a microwave in the near future, as she dug up a notebook and pen. She nearly grabbed her spare recorder as well, but then remembered where she was. It wouldn't be prudent to leave a trail of evidence leading back to having the Joker as a houseguest.

She resumed her place in her chair, but felt odd endeavoring to do her job in her place of rest and relaxation, particularly with a gun sitting not three feet from her, near her uneaten lunch. Unable to shake the feeling, and guessing that she had to giving off a peculiar vibe anyway, she decided to vocalize as much.

"Just…I'm not really prepared today," she conceded. "Give me a moment to collect my thoughts."

"Take your time," Joker responded good-naturedly, shoveling more food in his mouth. "Let me know when you're ready."

She took a deep breath and, unable to think clearly enough to find a good starting point, decided that beginning with what was chiefly concerning her was as good a place as any. "Why do you think you are here?" she began.

Joker froze mid-motion, a spoon hovering near his mouth. "Starting off pretty heavy today, huh Doc? Why are any of us here? Personally, I don't think there is much of a reason, which is why I'm not sure why anyone makes such a big deal when they're ultimately not here anymore, if you catch my drift. But do they ever make a fuss about it," he finished, spoon finding its way home.

Harleen jotted down something quickly, before replying, "Interesting point of view, but I wasn't trying to hit at something so philosophical." She smiled shyly, and looked down at her notepad, unable to make eye contact with her next question. "I mean, why are you _here_? In my apartment."

"Oh!" Joker laughed. "Where else should I be?"

Harleen wanted to tell him exactly where he _should_ be, as her gaze made its way back to the gun on the table, but knew better of it, deciding on another tactic.

"Well, I suppose my point is that you could be anywhere, but you chose to be here," she explained, trying to keep her voice calm despite the unnerving affect the weapon was having on her. "Why?"

There was a few moments silence that she scarcely noticed until he spoke up again. "See something you like, Doc?" he drawled. "Want to touch it?"

"What?!" she chirped in alarm, unsure of how long the conversation had been going on without her, nor how it had gotten so far away from where it began. But upon looking at him, she could see that he had resumed a sitting position and was glaring at the gun himself and then back at her. How long had she been absently staring at it? Had he been talking? How much did she miss?

"I'm sorry," she exhaled. "It's just-" She stopped talking as he suddenly leaned forward and took the gun in his hand.

"Ever held one, Doc?" he offered.

She shook her head slowly, edging her feet off the floor into the chair underneath her, as though melding with the chair was going to provide her some protection.

"Seen one up close?" he questioned, darkly, body tense.

She shook her head again. She had of course. Many of the guards carried sidearms at the asylum. But seeing a holstered weapon which was used for defense and protection wasn't quite the same as seeing one exposed. Particularly when she knew it was intended for far more nefarious purposes.

He soon loosened his grip on the gun. Indeed his whole body seemed to relax as he twirled the weapon once expertly in his hand, as though second nature. "Simply a tool of the trade, my dear. Why you wouldn't ask a carpenter to go to work without his saw, now would you?" He gauged her for a response, but it seemed to be slow forthcoming. "Besides," he continued, undaunted. "I think this is a rather symbolic answer to your question." He indicated the weapon to her, now lying flat in his palm.

"How-How's that?" she asked, finally finding her voice.

"It's a dangerous business I'm in, you can imagine," he explained. "And do you honestly think it's any safer in Arkham?"

She started to take a defensive stance, the look in her face indicating she was ready to refute him.

"Tut, tut, tut," he soothed. "I'm not blaming you. You try your best. I know that. But realistically how much could you possibly control by yourself surrounded by such bureaucracy?"

She sighed deeply, so much so that it occurred to her that she might have been unknowingly holding her breath. "It is very frustrating," she admitted.

"Exactly!" he enthused, encouraged by seeing her relax ever-so-slightly. "And we've been making such great progress, you and I. And yet, it was destined to be stymied in such a stressful environment. So I thought to myself, where would I feel safest, in order for us to continue moving forward. And here I am!"

Harleen blushed deeply at the compliment, secretly wishing she could explain things so simply to her superiors so that they would understand and give her the freedom she needed to do her job successfully.

"I can see how this could make someone nervous though," he continued, waving the gun slightly. "If one weren't used to such things. I need it…to feel safe, you understand?"

Harleen nodded, quicker this time, feeling somewhat more at ease with his explanation.

"But you aren't comfortable with it out and about, so I suggest a compromise." He leaned toward an end table, opening the small drawer, and placed the weapon inside.

"There," he chimed, closing the drawer. "Out of sight, out of mind. Better?"

"Yes, thank you," she smiled, touched by the gesture. "I know it's silly but-"

"Think nothing of it," Joker shushed her. "Well, so much for therapy today. Blazing Saddles came on last night. I recorded it. Wanna watch?"

"I've never seen it," Harleen admitted, the thought of something as mundane as watching a movie with a known killer feeling more odd than him waving a gun around her earlier, but she thought it best to play it off. "Any good?"

"You're in for a treat!" Joker insisted, attacking his second ham sandwich with renewed vigor.

The movie took longer than it should have to watch, mainly because Joker kept pausing it to explain cultural references that were before her time and giving information that wouldn't be out of place in a film history class. It was fascinating to see him speak on something he clearly had a passion for.

By the time evening rolled around, the coffee table was littered with so many funsize candy wrappers that it made Harleen a little queasy just looking at them. Reminded her of Halloween when she was a kid, faced with a seemingly endless pillowcase of treats and getting a stomachache.

Knowing that the morning would come early for her, and feeling the stress from the last couple of days taking its toll on her frontal lobe, Harleen decided it was time to call it a night. She finished placing the last few bowls in the dishwasher and turned it on, then moved towards her bedroom door.

"I'm going to bed," she said awkwardly, hand on the doorknob. Joker turned to look at her from his position on the couch, where he was watching news coverage of a drug bust by the docks, a mildly confused look on his face that smoothed into a smile.

"Well, I can't blame you. I've been told before that my company is 'exhausting'." He laughed to himself at this memory, apparently, and Harleen couldn't fight her smile.

"You need anything before I turn in?" She asked, hoping that any answer would be easier to obtain than the grocery store trip.

Thankfully, he waved her off with a flick of his hand. "I'll be just fine. You go count sheep."

"Okay...um, goodnight, then."

"Sweet dreams!"

It felt super weird undressing in her bathroom, knowing that he was right on the other side of the door. She half expected him to come bother her in the shower for some reason, even though he'd been nothing but cordial and non-threatening pretty much the entire day.

He was on his best behavior for her, in a way he probably had never been for any other person. She felt very special in that moment and smiled. Then had to spit out the shampoo that had slipped into her mouth.

* * *

Harleen's cell phone buzzed lightly at five thirty the next morning, rousing her from a surprisingly restful sleep. She'd made sure her alarm was as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb her guest in the other room.

Switching her bedside lamp on, she went about gathering her clothes for the day. Fitted navy button-up blouse, a gray pencil skirt, and matching gray suit jacket. She dug her black pumps with the little straps out of her closet and slid them on while she scanned the world news headlines on her phone. LexCorp press conference about some new biotech, King of Atlantis makes UN visit, Teen Titans induct new member...same old, same old.

She thought about her patient in the other room while she applied her eyeliner in front of the mirror. Would he want her to make him breakfast before she left? Should she leave him a note or something?

A swipe of mascara and a brief dusting of blush and she was done. She grabbed a pair of silver earrings from her jewelry box, not paying attention to them aside from assuring they matched each other, and slid them on while heading to her bathroom. All of her bobby pins migrated there eventually; there was a little pile of them by the sink, and she spent the next few minutes putting her hair into its semi-professional bun.

A last glance at the mirror and she stepped back into her room, grabbed her cellphone, and made her way into the living area as quietly as possible. The Joker was on the couch, under the blanket and seemingly asleep, if the occasional light snores were any indication. Noticing the clack her heels made on the hardwood floor, Harleen slid them off and went about making coffee. Thankfully, the coffee maker wasn't loud and she prepared a cup for herself, leaning against the  
kitchen counter as she drank it and sifting through the localnews on her phone. "Joker Still At Large" popped up a couple items down and she nearly giggled.

Several minutes later, suddenly aware of the time, Harleen decided the second serving of coffee would need to be on the go. Rustling in the cabinets, though she tried to be as quiet as possible, must have roused him because she saw the Joker sitting up and stretching.

"Where on earth are you off to at this ungodly hour all dressed up?" he yawned, running a hand through his tousled green curls.

Harleen stopped pouring her second cup of coffee into a thermos. "I, uh, I have to go to work. They're expecting me and everything," she explained, nervously wondering how he'd take the prospect of spending the day there alone.

"Yes, well, I suppose people do that sort of thing." He paused, considering the situation before continuing, "But I'm here."

"I know," she sighed. "But they will still expect me there."

"To do what, exactly?" he inquired suspiciously, sitting up straighter and drumming his fingers on the back of the couch.

"I don't know," she admitted, having never been in this position before, her only patient unavailable. "They'll probably assign me some temps. ...I'll be able to catch up with some paperwork," she added as an afterthought.

"Paperwork?" he repeated, not hiding his disgust. "Honestly, did you dream as a little girl that you grow up one day to push papers?"

"Well, no," Harleen murmured, embarrassed. "But every job has their downside. It's worth it though because we get to enjoy our sessions together, right?"

"That's funny," Joker replied evenly. "From where I'm sitting, it currently appears you are going to work to _not_ be with me or am I missing something?"

Harleen opened and closed her mouth a few times, unsure how to respond, clumsily playing with her thermos and unable to make eye contact.

"But don't give it another thought," he added, suddenly regaining a chipper tone. "We all do what we must, after all."

"You sure you'll be okay? I'll be back as soon as I can," she vowed.

"'Course you will," he chimed back.

"So...so I'll see you tonight then," she verified, sliding on her heels and grabbing her purse, slowly heading toward the door.

"Where else would I be?" he smiled genuinely.

* * *

Once she got to work, Harleen felt that it was going to be the longest day of her life. Her co-workers kept shooting glances at her and murmuring to each other, probably trying to figure out why she'd return after the events of Wednesday. They were all waiting for her to either be killed or quit, but she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of being like all the other Joker shrinks.

Joan, on the other hand, didn't seem at all surprised to see Harleen back and merely shook her head, turning back to her conversation with one of the orderlies.

Seeing as her patient was absent, Harleen did indeed end up doing paperwork most of the day, though after lunch she joined Doctor Reyes and Doctor Linus during their follow-up evaluations on a dozen or so new patients in the moderate security wing.

By four thirty, she was chomping at the bit to get back to her apartment. She nearly screamed in frustration when a traffic jam set her commute home back fifteen minutes. A few times, she nearly called her apartment to make sure everything was okay, but stopped herself each time. There was no reason to make him feel like she was freaking out. Even though... yeah, totally.

"Hey, sorry that took so long," she said as she entered the apartment, struggling to remove her key from the lock. "I hope you weren't..."

The word "bored" fell to the floor along with her purse and keys.

There was no place in her line of sight that had been left undisturbed. Cabinets and drawers were hanging open, books off her shelves had been shuffled around, and the damned drawer that had held the handgun lay open. Empty.

She didn't bother calling for him, merely stood dumbfounded at the chaos of her living spaceand the blatant evidence of his...

"Oh my god," Harleen whispered, feet already moving towards her bedroom door that was open a crack. A sinking coldness in her stomach.

Again, every drawer and door was hanging open, from dresser to her closet to her nightstand. Dread filled every fiber of her when she saw the nightstand in particular, knowing that he had not only clearly rifled through her undergarments, but also her most _intimate_ belongings.

Laying on her burgundy bedspread was the blue notebook she had been writing her innermost thoughts in since she was an undergrad. He had read her diary. _He had read her diary._

All she could do was sink onto the edge of the bed and stare at the little book, terrified with what she'd started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladria's End Notes: In case you're a more visual person (or simply interested), there's a link to see some images of Harley's apartment in the profile. And a big thank you to Blithefool of deviant art, who has provided some fanart for for this particular chapter, a link to which can also be found in the profile.


	4. Chapter 4

The weekend was full of rain. Harleen spent every second of it inside, alternating between sobbing over her own stupidity and cleaning up the mess that had been left behind. Nothing was broken, but things were thrown everywhere and it took hours to get everything looking semi-decent in the living room alone. Her eyes full of angry tears, she dug through the fridge and threw every bit of leftover junk food into a large trash bag.

Except the ice cream. She ate the shit out of the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough while curled up on the sofa Sunday night and there was not a fiber of her body that resisted that small comfort. She'd spend the next month straight on the exercise bike, if she had to. Now was a time for moping.

Walking into Arkham that Monday was agonizing. Harleen felt like every eye was on her, knowing what a pitiful excuse for a doctor she was **.** Knowing she had let her patient walk all over her. There was no way anyone could know, really, but she felt like it was dripping off of her in a similar manner to the droplets of rain that splattered as she shook her umbrella out in the small vestibule.

As she was placing one of the provided plastic bags over her umbrella, balancing awkwardly against said plastic bag dispenser to do so, someone else entered from the parking lot. It was Doctor Langley, who handled some of the lesser Rogue's Gallery members, like Maxie Zeus and Crazy-Quilt. He was a cheerful middle-aged fellow that, Harleen suspected, honestly just wanted to help people. She had no idea why he'd stayed in Arkham for over eight years.

"Good morning, Doctor Quinzel," he greeted, sounding far more awake and content than the time or place merited. Harleen, having finally wrestled her wet umbrella into the bag, returned his greeting with a weak smile and a mumbled "morning". Perhaps sensing her "I'm having a shitty day" vibes, he continued in a more somber tone, "I'm sorry for what you went through last week. It's surprising that you even decided to come back so soon."

"Thank you," Harleen responded, a twinge of guilt running through her. "Everyone else wanted me to take time off too, but...the job," she finished with a vague wave of her hand, hoping that would be a good enough answer.

Thankfully, Langley nodded in some sort of understanding and she was able to escape from the conversation.

In the break room, Harleen was huddled at the open doorway to the balcony with Jeremy Bryant and Sean Harmon, blowing cigarette smoke into the sheets of rain outside of the little overhang. They were two of the security guards that spent most of their time ferrying the rogues gallery patients to and fro. Both of them had arrived at nearly the same time, about five months previous; the positions tended to have a high turnover rate.

"God, I hate the fucking rain," Sean was griping through a cloudy exhale. "The bus is going to smell like shit later."

"You should get a car then," replied Jeremy, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

"There's nowhere to park a damn car in this city," said Sean, flicking his cigarette butt into the rain and moving towards the doughnut box. "Not unless you're gonna fight some old lady that's been parking her Buick outside a townhouse for thirty fucking years."

"There are other options, dude. Like, a parking garage." Jeremy turned to Harleen and asked, "How much do you think the average charge for that is?"

"Too damn expensive," Harleen replied honestly. "I pay out the nose for it, even though the garage is attached to my building."

"Oh hey, I heard there was a bomb in your car the other night-" Sean began, before being interrupted by a slight nudge to the arm from Jeremy.

"Don't be an ass. She probably doesn't wanna talk about it," he muttered, throwing an apologetic look to Harleen.

Gee, her cigarette sure was shaking a lot. Trying to keep her nerves under control, Harleen took another drag and nodded what she hoped Jeremy would take for a subtle thanks. The next few words tumbled out with her exhale.

"I told them there wouldn't be a bomb. If he wanted to kill me, he would have. There was ample opportunity." _Oh boy, was there ever._

Jeremy looked concerned and Sean looked like he was about to open his mouth again, but stuffed the rest of his glazed doughnut in there instead of making the thought exit.

As if by some divine reprieve, Joan entered the break room and walked towards their little smokers gathering, a piece of paper in her hand."Delivery for Bryant and Harmon," she said, handing the paper to Jeremy since Sean's fingers were busy with a new doughnut. "Revised schedule for therapy tomorrow, since so many doctors will be out for Mike Kendall's funeral."

"Man, everything is going to be shuffled around something fierce," groused Sean, peering over Jeremy's shoulder at the schedule.

"Well, the service is at ten; then there's the graveside and reception, but everyone should be back by one," Joan explained, before asking, "Have either of you heard when the services for the two guards will be? I haven't seen anything about it."

"Yeah, I heard that Green's bein' cremated," Jeremy said, still looking over the schedule. "Family's gonna, like, throw his ashes off a cliff in Washington state or something."

"Morales is from Chile," added Sean, after swallowing a bite. "His parents are probably burying him there."

A burst of static followed by a beep from the two guards walkie talkies halted further conversation.

A man's voice, sounding hopelessly garbled to Harleen, rambled off a message. Setting his coffee mug on the counter, Jeremy grabbed the walkie from his belt and responded, "Ten four. Bryant and Harmon en route to escort inmate Crane. Over."

"Duty calls," remarked Sean, shoving the rest of the doughnut in his mouth and heading towards the door. Both men were on the tall side and had the muscles that being an Arkham guard called for, but Sean clearly had Jeremy beat on appetite.

"Thanks for the copy, ," Jeremy said, folding said paper and tucking it into his uniform pocket. "Gonna be a real zoo tomorrow." He gave them both a friendly nod and started after his partner.

For a small moment, there was silence between Joan and Harleen, the pouring rain serving as a wet background score. "Are you going to the funeral tomorrow?" Joan asked, breaking Harleen's quiet contemplation.

Nodding as she exhaled a wispy cloud of smoke, Harleen replied, "I can't not go. I mean...I was _there_."

"Nobody would say you were required," Joan responded gently. "Not after what happened."

"That's exactly why I have to go."

Rather than argue the point, Joan shook her head and sighed. "We go to too many funerals."

* * *

It was still rainy at the service the next day, which meant that the cemetery was hell on everyone's shoes. As the minister wrapped up the final prayer, Harleen gazed forlornly at her black heels with the pretty scallop edge, all caked in mud. Was it cool to rinse them off in the ladies room during the reception? Was that gauche?

She was dwelling on this as they all stood to leave the tented area that covered the gravesite, moving back into what the ridiculously old stone church called its "family life center" for lunch, when a shadow crept overhead as she sensed a sudden movement behind her.

With a gasp and a little jump, Harleen spun around anxiously, only to find a soft smile greeting her. It was one of the doctors from the Arkham hospital wing. She recognized the face, but couldn't recall his name. He was holding his umbrella over her head, forcing her into a social situation.

"Oh...hey. Thanks," she offered, politely.

"Not a problem at all," he replied with a smile. "We're both going the same way, I guess."

He was older than Harleen (though, everyone was), with glasses that slipped awkwardly and slightly greasy looking brown hair that he probably hadn't changed the look of since middle school. His suit looked completely untailored and that paisley tie...hideous. She recognized that he wouldn't necessarily be considered unattractive if he tried, but guessed he really didn't know where to begin.

Harleen couldn't help but feel awkward around him, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why, besides the fact that something about the way he looked at her felt unnerving. She was racking her brain for a way to avoid walking any further with him, but couldn't think of a plausible excuse to avoid it. Seeing no other option, she started down the path and felt quite anxious walking so close to someone whose name she couldn't recall. …It began with a 'K'. Keller? Kingston? Something with two syllables.

"I know you must be having a hard time," he began and Harleen inwardly rolled her eyes, knowing what this was about. "Straight out of school, given the most challenging patient...I'm sure it's overwhelming, even for such a skilled doctor as yourself."

Harley expertly hid her true feelings about wanting to break away from this social engagement as quickly as possible. Instead, she forced a smile and replied, "Well, I didn't take the job without knowing the risks."

"Oh absolutely," the man continued excitedly, as though he was glad to find some common ground to begin a conversation, just the thing Harley had hoped to avoid. "It's the same way in the hospital wing-"

"There you are, Quinzel," Joan's voice miraculously rang from behind them, saving her from this ordeal. "Kirkwood, if I could borrow Doctor Quinzel..."

Before Kirkwood could say anything, Harleen was stepping under Joan's umbrella. "No, it's fine. I know you needed to speak to me about those reports. Thank you for the help, Doctor Kirkwood!"

"Always glad to assist," he told Harleen, a bit too chipper. "Seriously, you need anything, I'm happy to help."

Once they were a couple feet away, Harleen breathed out a sigh of relief. "Joan, you have no idea how grateful I am."

Joan let out a small laugh. "I know! I saw your face and hurried over as soon as I could."

"I couldn't remember his name," Harleen told her through her own giggle. "And he's such a...God, I guess the only word is 'dork'."

"That's the perfect word," replied Joan. "How does anyone get into their thirties and not know how to buy a suit that fits?"

"Man, I have no clue," said Harleen, before asking, "Hey, are you gonna wash your shoes?"

Joan's quizzical look was the only answer she needed.

* * *

March faded into April, bringing warmth and welcome color to the city. The most exciting thing that happened to Harleen was busting out her spring wardrobe and scoring some divine Neiman Marcus peep-toe wedges on clearance. With her patient still at large, she kept herself busy by attending a slew of psychiatry seminars on Arkham's dime and making as many connections in the criminal rehabilitation society as she could. Schmoozing at events was a priority in order to move up in her career.

She had a tentative timeline developed: bow out of treating the Joker after maybe two years, take her (well-earned) credentials of treating a notorious patient to another facility with the criminally insane, work with some undoubtedly easier patients, publish a paper about the Joker's psyche with some sort of shocking theory that twenty-four hour news channels would adore (cater to the layman)...and cross-over into a "psychology expert" on TV. Maybe a recurring spot on a current events panel, then her own half-hour show, some self-help book deals.

So, like, five years. Tops.

April went by quicker than she would have liked. At least she was making enough money to afford a tax guy, rather than filing for herself. She had absolutely no business attempting _that_ again. Besides, what good was a paycheck if she couldn't indulge once in awhile?

Overall, the last few weeks hadn't been terrible...Though Doctor Kirkwood had taken to dropping by her office for chit-chats and they were easily the worst parts of her day.

One afternoon in early May, he knocked on her door, which was open, and wandered in casually, sipping his coffee. Harleen held in a sigh and turned her chair around from her filing cabinet to greet him. "Hello, Doctor Kirkwood."

"I told you that you can call me Glenn," he chided good-naturedly, helping himself to a seat on her sofa. _O_ _h Christ, he's sticking around._ "So, how's your day, umbrella buddy?"

Gritting her teeth and turning back to her files, she replied, "It's been just peachy keen."

"Yeah. I bet you're excited to have your patient back, aren't you? No more hanging around- ...what?" Harleen was staring at him, unable to get words out. "Oh...oh, you didn't know yet?"

Attempting to compose herself, she turned back to her files, aimlessly shoving papers in random sections. "Nope. Nobody told me. When did he come in?"

"Sometime around two in the morning. He's in the hospital wing still, pretty torn up."

 _Remain calm, remain calm, remain calm._ "Torn up?" she inquired, tone casually curious. "Anything serious?"

"Just the usual. You know, bruised ribs, smashed face, broken wrist. Some superficial glass wounds...You okay?"

Harley forced a smile his direction. "Sure, sure. Just a lot to take in. Well, you'll have to excuse me. Clearly, I've got a lot of work ahead of me. Have to get myself prepared."

"Of course," he agreed. "I completely understand. See you tomorrow, then."

Harleen let out a deep breath she'd been holding in ever since Kirkwood had entered her doorway. She took a seat and stoically considered the task now before her and how exactly to deal with the unfortunate events surrounding the last time she'd seen her patient.

* * *

Harleen had prepared herself mentally for this over the past week: her initial session with the Joker after his first escape under her care. There had been a few minor protocol infractions, she knew...Okay, so maybe _minor_ was an understatement, but at the time she believed (and still did to a degree) that they were made in the benefit of her patient. A bond of any sort between doctor and patient was considered taboo, but Harleen could hardly see how you could accomplish anything without it. With a relationship came trust. With trust came sharing and healing. Still, the fact that he had entered her home uninvited clearly showed that she needed to regain control of the situation. She was determined to gain the high ground quickly.

"We've got him here for you, Dr. Quinzel, if you're ready," said Jeremy. He escorted the Joker through the door frame after she had given him a small nod of the head, indicating for him to be brought in. She cringed inwardly as she saw his wrapped wrist forcibly strapped down beneath his constraints, but made sure that she did nothing to display these thoughts. "Sorry your breather is over," he continued, while securing him to the couch bolted to the floor. "Hope you enjoyed it because he's in one of his fouler moods today."

"But that's all behind me," Joker assured him kind-heartedly. "Now that me and my doctor are ready to continue where we've left off," he added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Jeremy gave Harleen a knowing look and she matched it in both appearance and mindset. "Good luck," he finished, not envying her position. "I'll be right outside."

"Thought he'd never leave," Joker muttered as the door clicked behind the security guard. "It's nice to see a friendly face again," he stated, indicating his doctor could drop the act she put on for the guard.

She answered him with a cold look of indifference from above the rim of her glasses, before returning her gaze to her notebook.

"Oh, so not so friendly then," Joker confirmed. "I see how it is."

"When we last left off-," Harley began and was instantly cut off.

"When we last left off," Joker completed for her, "Your tongue was halfway down my throat…At least, that's what I recall."

She had prepared for this and didn't so much as pause in thought before returning emphatically, "I don't."

"Quite right, quite right," Joker agreed hastily. "How silly of me. When we last left off, I had just killed…was it four people? The number hardly matters, now does it? And you were absolutely _covered_ in red," he added seductively. "Have I mentioned that's a good look for you?"

"Yes," Harleen returned, evenly. "You have. Now, if we can return to where we last left off _h_ _ere_ ," she replied curtly, indicating her notebook.

"OH! Oh yes! Now I remember! When we last left off, we were having a sleepover," Joker finished triumphantly. "That was fun."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Harley contradicted. "But if you aren't in the mood to be constructive, I know the guards won't mind escorting you back to your cell early."

"Well," Joker added, with a touch of sadness. "I missed you, even if you didn't miss me."

Harleen sighed at his forlorn expression. "I never said that, Mr. Joker."

"Then you did miss me!" he concluded happily.

She sighed again, deeper this time, rolling back her head. "I didn't say that either."

"I have been in a rather foul mood," he changed the subject, returning to the guard's earlier comment. "I was beginning to feel better though, knowing I'd be seeing you today. Thought it would cheer me up."

"Why have you been in such bad spirits?" Harley asked, deciding to take the opening diverting from their…whatever it was they had, rather than taking the bait.

"Well, I typically am initially after being brought in, freedom being stripped away. Who wouldn't be? And I was working on something big," he admitted. "It would have driven Bats crazy! Now, a few dozen happy pills out of this place, and the idea has just…flown away." He added to himself thoughtfully, "It was good. I know it was good."

"That must be very frustrating," Harley sympathized, while scribbling in her notebook.

"It'll come back to me. It usually does." He shrugged as best he could from beneath his restraints, reminding Harleen of his wrist once again. "Right now I'm dealing with something far more disturbing."

"What's that?" Harley asked with some concern, wondering if he was going to admit to some discomfort. The way they had his broken wrist constrained had to be extremely painful.

"Apparently, I'm recalling things that just aren't so," Joker explained. "I hadn't realized it until talking with you. I know I have issues, but hallucinations aren't normally one of them. Have they changed my medication doctor? Should I be worried?"

Harleen glared back at him, sternly thinning her lips. "I'll make a note of it. I'm sure you're fine," she replied evenly.

"If you say so," he conceded, gesturing with a slight shrug again. "You're the expert after all."

"I'd like to begin a few exercises now," she continued, trying to return to a familiar routine. "Today I'd like to try-"

"Are you angry with me?" Joker interrupted.

"No, of course not," she assured him. "Why would you think that?"

"You just seem…different," Joker answered. "It's hard to describe…You used to seem like you enjoyed your work. Right now it's like you're _having_ to do it. I'd hate to think that I've become an irritant."

"I do enjoy my work! And you are _not_ an irritant!" Harleen reassured him, wondering if she pushed things too far. "Perhaps, like you, it's hard for me to get back into the swing of things. You said that being brought back here always puts you in a negative frame of mind. Remember, for as long as you've been gone from here, you've been gone from me. I'm having to readjust back into our routine, just like you."

Joker nodded, but still wore a wary face.

Harley put on the familiar soft smile he was more accustomed to, to put him at ease, and he did seem to respond to the gesture positively, relaxing his posture. "Can I be frank with you?"

"Of course," he smiled back, their interaction returning to something he was more familiar with.

"I don't suppose most doctors around here actively discuss their patients' specific issues with the patient themselves. And, for some of them, that may be for the best. It might result in a violent outburst or having the patient withdraw. Many people have a hard time facing who they really are," she expounded.

"Not me, Doc," Joker unwaveringly stated.

"Not you," Harleen agreed. "I think we can both admit that you are a tad egocentric."

"Come now, doctor, it's more than a tad," Joker teased. "But who could blame me?"

"My point is, I think you tend not to realize that people's lives go on, with or without your presence," she explained.

"In my presence…I think they tend _not_ to," he commented darkly and she gave him an annoyed look in response. "C'mon! You walked right into that one!"

She cleared her throat, drowning out the laugh that was threatening to rise up. "What I'm saying is that it's not something you think about."

"Other people's lives? I don't," Joker agreed. "Why should I?"

"Well, for situations like the one we're in now," she pointed out, logically. "I don't think you realize that, while you were gone, my life continued to move forward. You don't know what has happened to me within that time or what my mindset might be now and are instead immediately attributing my mood to you, when it could be…anything."

"I see," Joker considered. "So what were you up to while I was away? Anything interesting?"

"I'd much rather talk about what you were up to," she redirected him.

"See, now I'm wondering if it's true or not," he said jokingly. "What if you just pop in and out of existence when I show up. I rather like that idea. And I have no reason to think otherwise. You can't even describe our time apart."

She quickly jotted down some notes before responding. "If it makes you feel any better, I attended some seminars and had several patients assigned to me while you were away."

"Who?! I do love gossip," Joker pleaded excitedly.

"No one you would know. They were all from the lower security end of the building," she said in a chiding tone.

"Oh," he sighed in disappointment.

"And I helped evaluate the progress of some patients under the care of other doctors. Nothing too exciting," she admitted.

"Yes, but that's all work related. Surely you had more going on than that," Joker prodded.

Harleen shrugged. "Nothing interesting enough to talk about. Besides, we're supposed to be talking about you," she reminded him.

"I picture you meditating after a long day's work with that fountain trickling in the background. You know, the one in the corner." Joker closed his eyes as though he were visualizing it. "Did you do any of that while I was running amok?"

"I'm not really one for mediation," Harley refuted. "But I do find the fountain soothing."

Joker opened one eye at her, a broad smile slowly spreading across his face.

"…What?" she asked warily.

"Oh, nothing." He seemed about to disregard the question as inconsequential. "It's just that my hallucinations seem to be _extraordinarily_ accurate to be able to describe your decor."

The features on Harley's face immediately screwed themselves into something between anger and self-condemnation.

"I'm fairly certain that it's against your job description to make the patient feel as though they are going crazier. Why would you do that?" he tsked.

"Because," Harley seethed inwardly. "Because it was in our… _your_ best interest."

"You're going to have to explain that one," Joker insisted.

"You broke out of here!" Harley exclaimed.

"Of course I did. Being forced to do anything against your will isn't fun. Try it for yourself. Besides," he continued, "It's far from the first time."

She gave him a stern look, eyes narrowed.

"...I do suppose it was the first time it's happened since you've started here though," Joker admitted. "I hadn't considered that."

"I thought we were making progress," Harley stated bluntly.

"We were! We are!" Joker emphasized. "Can't you see that? I did it to come see you."

"I know! I was there!" Harley was beginning to look frazzled, the conversation taking more out of her than she thought. "That wasn't okay! That's why I…misdirected you. You can't think that's okay to do again."

"But I told you why I did it. You indicated that it made sense," he pleaded.

"It did. It did," she agreed. "Or I thought it did. But then you left and you…I'd hear on the news what you were doing. I haven't made any difference at all." She couldn't look at him anymore, for fear that he'd see the water swelling up in her eyes.

He leaned forward as much as he could, imploringly. "But you have," he said softly, but sincerely. "I've opened up to you, haven't I? And remember how I made the compromise with the gun? Remember that? Me. The Joker. Compromising. I don't do that. That was all you, Doc. Baby steps, like you said."

Harleen wiped her eyes quickly before looking up again. "But you left. If you had stayed, we could have-"

"Is that what's upsetting you?" he asked.

"We could have continued progressing, like you wanted, if you had only-"

"I wanted to. I really did," he assured her. "But I just couldn't. I tried, but my mind… I was already going crazy with boredom not two hours after you walked out the door. I was even thinking about hurting one of your neighbors just for something to do."

Harleen clasped a hand to her mouth in shock.

"Yeah, I knew that's how you'd feel about it," Joker explained. "So...so I did what I had to do and left. I didn't mean for it to upset you." He put on a more jovial tone. "If I may venture a suggestion, I think maybe you and I had better start working on my attention span to help issues like this in the future because it is practically nonexistent."

She snickered a little at that, despite herself, before returning to her previous stern look. "You went through my diary!"

He grimaced a little at that. "I told you; I was bored!" he whined. "Besides, none of my thoughts are supposed to be private from you. How is that fair?"

Harleen exhaled loudly and slumped in her chair out of exasperation. "You are absolutely impossible."

"I know. I know," he admitted. "But I like to think it's all part of my charm."

She offered him a look of concern before pointing at his wrist. "Does it hurt?"

"Only when I laugh," he answered with a broad smile. "So, quite a bit actually."

A sudden knock diverted their attention to the door with a muffled voice accompanying it. "Doctor Quinzel? Doctor Quinzel, it's like ten minutes past time. Is everything alright?"

Harleen hastily composed herself and answered the door. "Yes, yes, fine. Just lost track of time is all. We have a lot of catch up work to do."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that Doctor," Jeremy said, entering the room. "It won't be long before we're in this exact same situation again. It's a total cycle with these guys."

Harleen hid the look of displeasure she wanted to give the comment, but fortunately her patient vocalized precisely what she was thinking.

"See how little faith they have in me?" Joker sighed, as they unhooked him from the couch. "What's the point in trying when everyone has already decided I'm going to fail?"

"Well, you'll just have to prove them wrong then, Mr. Joker," she encouraged.


	5. Chapter 5

Harleen was stirred from sleep by a ringing sound. She rolled over in bed drowsily, her body in firm denial that it was time to wake up. As the ringing persisted, it occurred to her on a subconscious level that the ringing sounded different than her alarm did. In fact, it sounded an awful lot like her doorbell. She sat up, eyes still practically closed, and wondered if she was dreaming, but the ringing continued.

She decided, dreaming or not, the only way to get it to stop was to answer the door, whose ringing seemed to sound as though it were growing impatient. She gazed lazily at the phone laying on one of her nightstands, saw it was just after two in the morning, and forced herself out of bed to stumble toward the door.

Vaguely, she noted how odd it was to have anyone at her door at all, much less at such a strange hour. In the past month the only people that had stopped by were delivering items she had ordered online, mostly out of boredom. And there was the neighbor across the hall that needed a cup of milk.

After putting all the evidence together, Harleen decided that this probably was, in fact, a dream after all when she reached the door. She wondered who her mind would decide to put on the other side of it as she turned the knob with a yawn.

This wasn't a dream; it was a nightmare. The Joker's height, still donned in his orange jumpsuit from the asylum, filled her doorframe and looked ready to murder her doorbell. Harleen's mind barely had anytime to register what was happening, as her yawn morphed into a scream.

He quickly clamped a hand over her mouth and forced his way in, shutting the door behind him with his foot and pushing her backward until the back of her thighs met with her leather couch. He was uncomfortably close, particularly since she wasn't prepared for him. The Joker had such a presence, it really took some mental preparation before being bombarded by... _him_. Having him forced upon her while half asleep wasn't something she had primed herself for.

The matter was made all the worse by the hard, discerning stare he was giving her, directly into her eyes, his hand still covering her mouth. After assuring herself that she was awake and this was really happening, she deduced that he was trying to decide whether her scream was out of shock or a genuine cry for help. She tried to look more relaxed, which was quite a feat in itself.

His glare softened slightly and he put a finger over his mouth to make doubly sure. She nodded in understanding as best she could, prompting him to release his hold on her. She collapsed onto the arm of couch, breathing rapidly as he immediately headed toward the living room window to gaze down at the street below. She noted that she had never seen him this stiff before and it made her all the more uneasy.

After several tense moments, he relaxed a bit. "I think we're okay," he commented, seemingly for her benefit.

Prompted by his initial demeanor, she had been unconsciously looking around the room for watchful eyes and was still afraid to speak at a normal volume. "Did you lead someone here?!" she hissed.

In contrast to her, he spoke in his typical tone, still staring out the window. "I just said that we're alright and, besides, I'm sure you can play the role of hostage just fine."

Her lips thinned at the comment, but she ultimately decided it best to ignore it. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, rising to her feet once more to face him.

He finally decided to turn from the window and regard her, flashing a winning smile. "Since when do I need a reason to see my favorite doctor?"

Harleen blushed a bit and was thankful the room was so dark, feeling he probably wouldn't notice it. She was about to respond to the comment when a bright light suddenly silhouetted him from behind, darkening him even further.

"And there it is," he breathed, beckoning her to join him with a gesture of his hand. She conceded and slid herself past the couch, stopping only to steady a fixture she jarred atop an end table that she bumped into while trying to cross the darkened room. He surprised her by putting one arm around her shoulder while pointing up with his other hand to the Batsignal now shining above them. "It took them awhile before they even noticed I was gone this time," he explained to her, before basking in the glow once again. "Isn't it beautiful?"

She wasn't sure how to respond appropriately. Not to mention, being taken aback at how quickly he seemed to feel comfortable in her home once again, as though she were supposed to go along with it. More than that, it was almost as though she should have expected it. As though anyone would expect him to show up at their front door in the middle of the night and just invite him in while still in their pajamas and...

She quickly looked down at herself and realized she was wearing nothing but some cotton panties and a large Gotham University t-shirt that barely hung low enough to cover her crotch. She immediately gasped and pulled down on the hem of the shirt, trying to cover more of herself. If he hadn't noticed her blush before, there was no way he had missed it now.

"Problem?" he snickered, dropping his arm from her shoulder.

"Just-" she stuttered out of embarrassment. "Just give me a minute," she pleaded. She did a funny goose-step he probably couldn't help but giggle at, as she tried returning to her bedroom while continuing to tug down on her shirt.

Safely inside her bedroom, she slipped on some flannel pajama bottoms as the situation began to truly sink in. She went into her bathroom, feeling it the safest place in the apartment for some reason.

"What are we supposed to do now, Dr. Quinzel?" she asked her reflection in the mirror. She noted that she didn't look much the part at the moment, in her most casual clothes, no make-up and with pillow hair. She couldn't imagine walking back out there to him like this, despite the fact that he had just seen her in this state...minus the pants. She covered her face with her hands and sat down on the closed toilet seat, mortified once again.

Finally, she took a deep breath and rose back to her feet. She couldn't ignore him and she couldn't very well spend the next hour making herself more presentable either. She quickly brushed her hair and lightly powdered her face, doing the barest she could to keep up appearances, before walking back into the living room.

She was grateful that he had neglected to turn on the lights. Her appearance wouldn't be as obvious to him.

"I like your hair down," he commented absently, as though he could read her mind. "Makes you look less stuffy."

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply again, telling herself not to think much of his appraisal of her, his main attention being on the glowing screen of the television. Harleen couldn't help but recall her earlier apprehension of how quickly he seemed to making himself comfortable.

"What do you have to eat?" he asked, seemingly oblivious to her concerns. "I'm starving!"

A million thoughts were zipping through her head at once, none of them being a very viable option to deal with her predicament. What was she supposed to do? Ask him to leave? Call the police? Neither of those choices would work and could easily leave her dead. Even if it didn't, it would certainly destroy any progress she'd made in building a rapport with her patient.

Seeing little other option, she exhaled deeply and calmly answered, "Nothing you would like."

"What's the point of living if you have to eat cardboard?" he chided, looking away from the television to regard her. "It's way past your bedtime, isn't it?" he cooed, almost apologetic, seeing her standing there in her pajamas. "Me, I'm a bit of a nightowl, but I imagine we're on different schedules. How very rude of me."

"It's not a big deal," she offered. "It's Friday anyway. I don't have to go to work tomorrow."

"Well, be that as it may, why don't you toddle off to bed," he insisted. "I'm sure I can handle myself here tonight without you tucking me in."

"I appreciate that," she sighed, genuinely thankful, hoping she could get a better grasp on the situation after a full night's sleep and without having her appearance to distract her. "I'll see you in the morning then," she confirmed, slowly backing into her bedroom once again.

She immediately dove into the safety of her comforter, feeling it's warmth wrapped around her. As the night's adrenaline rush began to slip away, so did she.

* * *

Typically, Harleen had a difficult time waking up and had to set her alarm well before she intended to get out of bed, to allow herself time to hit the snooze button repeatedly. On the weekends, this was amplified. She'd halfway wake up multiple times, only to roll over and fall asleep again. This, however, was not a typical morning.

Her eyes fluttered softly in what should have been the first of many times she'd happily realize she didn't have to rush off anywhere and could sleep in. Instead, she instantly recalled the events of the night before and shot up quickly into a sitting position. It was nearly nine in the morning and she guessed that her 'houseguest' wouldn't be awake yet given how late he was up the night before. This gave her ample opportunity to dress and head to the grocery store, as she was sure this would be his first request of her anyway, and she wanted to make this ordeal go by as smoothly as possible.

Sure enough, she found the Joker still sound asleep on her couch upon quietly opening her bedroom door. It was strange to see him...just _sleeping_. The idea of it made him seem vulnerable in a way she didn't think possible and the thought unnerved her for unknown reasons. She decided not to dwell on these thoughts, silently crossing the room and venturing outside the apartment to run her errand.

Strolling up and down the aisles, pushing a cart with squeaky wheels, gave her a welcome feeling of normalcy considering what awaited her back home. Absently, she realized that she remembered much of the products he had requested of her before, but decided not to buy them in bulk as she did the time previous, seeing as most of it had ended up in the garbage anyway. She also grabbed a bucket of her favorite ice cream, completely acknowledging that she may be repeating the emotional roller coaster she had experienced not two months ago.

Upon returning home, she put down her bags and fumbled with her keys, fairly certain that he was probably still asleep. It occurred to her that the longer he stayed that way, the less she'd have to deal with him, and the ethical dilemma associated with his presence would be felt less. She quietly let herself in and cursed the plastic bags of food that refused to be silent, no matter how slowly she moved.

She successfully managed to put away all the items without him seeming to notice. Then, left with nothing else to do, she suddenly felt quite lost and unsure about what to do with herself. Should she go back in her room? And then what? Twiddle her thumbs? She didn't have a TV in there. She'd considered putting one in there before, but, being alone, it felt rather silly to have more than one.

Harleen frowned at herself. She knew she should have picked up a hobby at some point. All she had was her athletics. She sighed and returned to her room to do the only thing she really knew how to do. After completing a series of stretches and an hour on her exercise bike, she decided to see if she could still do some more complicated maneuvers.

She couldn't do much in the confined space, but still attempted some simple handstands. Becoming bored of this, she pushed the bike as out of the way as she could, feeling it'd give her enough room to try a somersault or two. She was rusty, but happy to see she was still able to do it without much trouble. So happy, that she continued to do so, unaware that her hard landings were rattling the floor.

It was shortly after achieving an upside-down stag pose, her full weight resting mostly on her right forearm, that she realized there was another pair of feet in the room, besides her gracefully arranged ones. Fully aware that she was in her fitted tank and yoga pants, with her business all up in the air, Harleen slid out of the pose and busied herself with retrieving her water bottle from the nightstand by her closet.

"Oh, hi. Sorry," she said with forced casualty, "I hope I didn't wake you up with my workout."

"You were doing those...flippy-doos," he replied, moving his hands in a vague gesture she assumed represented her somersaults.

"Yeah, I was just seeing if I could still go through the easy stuff," she said, sipping slowly at her water.

To her surprise, he chuckled and said, "'The easy stuff'? You're a riot, Harls. You know," he continued before she could comment, "I've always admired the more outrageously physical acts of comedy. Sure, I can hold my own, but you..." He began pointing a finger at her with a smile on his face. "You got that freedom of movement that enhances all the great gags. They would have loved you in clown school."

Feeling tickled at being given such a compliment from him, she giggled. "You didn't attend clown school."

"I didn't need it," he replied, tilting his chin in a preening sort of way. "I'm self-educated."

Laughing, she said, "Oh, that's right! How silly of me, you're a natural."

The Joker was grinning at this point and said, "Now that you're done tumbling and contorting, how about we watch this really fantastic movie I took the liberty of recording? It's absolutely one of my favorites."

"Sure," Harleen replied, putting her water bottle back on the nightstand. "I'm going to get a shower first, but I'll just be a minute."

"Oh, delightful images already!" His grinned turned the tiniest bit predatory, but she knew from experience that he was just running with the joke. She'd seen his seduction, after all.

Harleen gave him what he expected, an eyeroll, and headed to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, they were both seated on opposite ends of the sofa, a plastic bowl full of fresh popcorn in the Joker's hands. It was past lunch, but meals tended to blend together when he was around and Harleen found herself munching idly on a candy bar. Maybe she'd get a new gym membership after all...

"You're going to love this film," he assured her, seeming very excited. "It's just spectacular."

"You haven't told me what it's about, though," she pointed out. "Who's in it?"

"Cary Grant is in it, but he was in everything at the time. Oh! Peter Lorre is in it too."

"I don't know who that is," replied Harleen. She frequently felt woefully uneducated around him and thought he was very patient with her about it, all things considered.

"You'll know him when you see him. If from nothing else, the impressions of him in the classic Looney Tunes horror shorts."

"I did watch a lot of Looney Tunes when I was a kid," she considered aloud. "A lot of the kid-centric cable stations were young and they filled their early deadspace with Looney Tunes blocks." She paused while he flipped the remote through the DVR menu to where the movie resided. "And Saturday mornings too," she added, recalling further. "Bugs and Tweety had a whole half-hour. I would sing along to the opening number. It was something like, 'Dah dah dah, cut the lights, this is it, dah dah dah dah! And oh what heights we'll hiiiiiit...'" She trailed off when she saw he was watching her with fascination and mumbled. "I mean, I don't remember all the lyrics anymore."

To her absolute shock, he cleared his throat and began singing. "Overture, curtains, lights! This is it, the night of nights!" He raised his hand with a flourish, gaze focused on a point by the television. "No more rehearsing and nursing a part! We'll know every part by heart!" She realized then that he was performing for an imaginary audience where the wall was, fully the showman. "Overture, curtains, lights! This is it, you'll hit the heights! And oh what heights we'll hiiiiit! On with the show, this is it!"

His song finished with a ringing note and Harleen began to clap excitedly. "Yeah, that's the one!"

He gave as much of a bow as he could while sitting. "It was the theme from the Bugs Bunny Show that aired in nineteen-sixty. And you can credit that show, as well as it's various later incarnations, with keeping the Looney Tunes shorts from obscurity once the film shorts' days were numbered."

"I forget that there was a time when cartoons were only on the big screen," Harleen mused, as the black and white Warner Brothers logo appeared on the tv, along with trumpet fanfare.

"That's understandable," the Joker replied, settling back on the couch with a mouthful of popcorn. "It has been a few generations since that was the case." The title came up, 'Frank Capra's "Arsenic and Old Lace"' and the Joker asked teasingly, "Why would they 'cut the lights' if the show was about to start?"

"Shut up!" Harleen giggled. "I was a kid! You can't expect me to pay attention to lyrics when I'm about to get cartoons!"

* * *

 _I'm not a cab driver, I'm a_ coffee pot _!_

The apartment was filled with unbridled laughter and Harleen couldn't even sit up straight anymore, having hugged a throw pillow to her chest the last fifteen minutes for support. Their guffaws turned to giggles and she finally breathed out, "That was the _funniest_ goddamn movie."

"I know!" Joker exclaimed, wiping tears of merriment from the outside of his eyes. "Seen it a billion times, but that 'CHAAAARGE!' always gets me!"

"It was just perfect! Thank you for sharing it with me," Harleen added, sitting up and grabbing her phone to check the time. She untangled herself from the cushions, rising to her bare feet and grabbing a handful of candy bar wrappers that were her sole contribution to the pile.

It was a few moments later, after she pressed her foot on the trash can to toss the wrappers in, that he spoke. "How strange," he muttered.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's just...I don't think I've ever shared this movie with anyone before...I don't guess that it's that strange after all, come to think of it. I've tried before, you know. Not this in particular, but things…" he continued, in a disjoined fashion and mostly seemed to be talking to himself. After some consideration, he concluded, "I try to illuminate the masses but it just never seems to work out. People don't really _get_ me."

When she turned to look at him, he was leaning his head back on the sofa and staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. At that moment, Harleen felt a warm rush of affection for the part of the Joker that just clearly wanted someone to connect with, even if he didn't like acknowledging it. This was a good step forward.

They ended up having frozen pizza for dinner, which turned out not too bad thanks to the idiot-proof directions. Harleen was shocked that she actually had a proper baking sheet for it to rest on.

After eating, they sat in comfortable silence watching the local news. Out of habit, Harleen knocked a cigarette out of the pack that she'd had on the side table and stuck it between her lips to light. She felt pretty comfy curled up on the couch, in her thinner GCU hoodie and leggings, and figured the next addition was an evening smoke. They felt great after meals, anyway.

Summer Gleason's image dominated the screen, reporting on something involving roadwork in the Diamond District, but Harleen couldn't care less and used her free hand to check email on her phone. There was one from Kirkwood that she ignored for the moment, flipping instead to a notice from Arkham regarding employee badge upgrades.

She had barely started her cigarette, when she heard the flick of the lighter and turned her head to see the Joker lighting his own. Apparently, he had her second pack of Morley Lights.

He exhaled his first mouthful as a smoke ring. _Such a show off,_ Harleen thought, attempting to keep a smile down. "I didn't know you smoked," she observed casually. "I would have bought you some of your brand."

"Don't have a brand, actually," he replied, eyes locked on the Wayne Industries logo being shown on the screen. His lips turned upward in a sinister grin, smoke seeping out like a demon. "I'm really just a social smoker."

Harleen flicked her ashes into the empty bowl that had held some ice cream earlier, briefly considering what kind of social interaction he had in the real world. "I should really know better, as a doctor."

"Certainly," the Joker replied, gesturing towards her vaguely with his lit cigarette, the flickering colors of a commercial flashing over his face. "Anything worth doing carries that disclaimer."

* * *

Harleen awoke with a feeling akin to dread and, as her drowsy, early morning murkiness clarified, she simultaneously was aware where the emotion originated and was confused by why she had experienced it so strongly.

Either way, it was one hell of a wake up call. No snooze button for her again. Thankfully, she noted by the late hour of the clock, she had been afforded the luxury of sleeping in anyway.

She considered the reason for her emotional state as objectively as she could. Much as she had been trained to do for others. There was no doubt that it circulated around the fact that she was worried the Joker had disappeared on her again. After all, in his previous visit he had shown up late one night, slept over, spent the next day with her and then was gone the following day. There was no reason for her to expect anything different from him this visit.

Of course, one incident was hardly a pattern either, she reminded herself. Still, the bigger issue lied in why she cared. Naturally, part of it was due to her desperately wanting to make a breakthrough with his therapy. An impossible task, if he refused to stick around, either in Arkham or her apartment. She ultimately didn't care which.

And, of course, she feared what he might (and probably would) do on his own, unrestricted. She latched on to this thought, despite knowing it was really of minor concern for her, because any alternative reasoning simply sounded...crazy. And she wasn't crazy. She was quite sane.

In fact, she fully intended to prove her sanity by fighting every urge she had to rush out her bedroom door to see if her couch was as vacant as she expected it to be. Instead, she went to her bathroom to shower and get ready for the day as any model of sanity did when first waking up.

She forced herself to think of something else, anything else, while showering and was rewarded for her efforts. Patting her hair dry with a towel, baby blue bathrobe tied around her waist, she emerged from the bathroom to a muffled voice from the living room. Smiling softly in response, knowing he was there after all, she continued to dress without any further mental distractions.

She happily applied her makeup, wondering what was in store for her today. It was so different to her usual Sunday expectations of...nothing. Just to have some company for a change was so unexpectedly appreciated. She continued to take comfort in his unintelligible voice through the wall, when it suddenly occurred to her that he had to be talking to someone…

She suddenly had her ear to wall, listening with intense concern. Had he brought someone here? Who? Why would he do that? But listen hard as she might, there wasn't another voice. ...Was he talking to himself? Honestly, that wouldn't surprise her too much. She imagined he liked the sound of his own voice and knew he enjoyed performing for audiences that didn't exist.

Her mind at ease once again, she continued her morning routine which had now taken her to her closet. Sliding on an oversized blue button-up and black leggings, she became aware that his voice was rapidly rising in volume. As she slid her feet into a pair of black flip flops, he was positively booming to the point she could clearly make out what he was saying, though its meaning was still out of context for her.

Not two seconds ago, the prospect of greeting him held such positive connotations. But now...she had never heard him like this before. He was mad. Like really, _really_ mad. At what she didn't know, but it hardly mattered. All she could focus on now was the fact that she'd rather be anywhere else.

Her stomach flip-flopped at the notion of walking out the door. She, of course, knew he was more than capable of outbursts like this, but she had never seen it herself. Well...that wasn't quite true. She had once or twice, but always with the knowledge that he was strapped down, completely confined.

But here, here he was unrestrained and the notion was terrifying. She knew his mental instability well enough to know that he could potentially lash out at anything in this agitated state. She sunk back onto her mattress rather than head for the door as originally intended. When she heard something crash against against a wall, unmistakably something he had thrown in anger, she considered crawling underneath the bed, before chiding herself.

She was a professional and her patient was here having a tantrum and her first thought was to hide? And in her own home to boot? No, she was going to use this opportunity to try some practical application to methods she'd been trying to get him to adopt.

She inhaled deeply and rose to her feet. Chest out and head up, she turned her doorknob to find her frazzled patient, his hair stroan wildly across his face. She was taken aback at first to seeing he was on the phone. She had honestly decided that he had gotten himself worked up in some passionate monologue, as she'd seen him have a tendency to do, and had entered purposely knowing how she intended to calm him down.

Now her first thought was that interrupting his phone call might be rude.

If he noticed her, he gave no indication as to such. Instead, he continued on as if she were not there at all,

"Once again! Tell me just how much money he owes me?!" he demanded.

Her first thought was how strange it was to think of him concerned with money. He seemed so...beyond such things. Still, it was what made the world go round.

"And how long has he been holding out on me?!" Joker prompted. "AND why is it that we can't get it out of him?!"

Harleen briefly opened her mouth, considering that maybe she should let him know she was there, wondering if this would be considered eavesdropping even though she wasn't making any efforts at being covert.

"DO YOU HEAR THE WORDS COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH?!" he bellowed madly. "I DO AND THEY ARE FUCKING IDIOTIC!"

She closed her mouth immediately, cringing instead. She wondered if the neighbors could hear this and what they would think. Suddenly, his eyes had locked on hers, finally recognizing her presence. Her first thought was that he was going to redirect his anger on her. Whether due to simply needing the outlet or because he would be angry at her overhearing any of this (how could she not), she wasn't sure. However, she was surprised when he immediately seemed to reign himself in somewhat.

"Stop. Just stop talking," Joker instructed to whoever it was he was talking to, plopping on the couch and massaging his forehead. "Your words are hurting my brain. Tell me, right now, what _you_ are going to do to fix this."

He instantly clinched his fist in response to the other person's answer and looked ready to explode again. Harleen rushed in front of him and made some encouraging motions with her hands, wearing a soothing smile, inspired at his attempt to control himself.

He responded by breathing deeply, carrying a tight expression across his face. "I don't want to hear he skipped town. You've already said that. Does he have any family in the area?" Joker asked, as though slowly prodding a child in the obvious direction.

Finally, a genuine smile began to creep across his face. "Well, there you go then," he congratulated. "I'm assuming you are intelligent enough to take it from here. Although, if this conversation is any indicator, that might be expecting a lot."

Joker pulled the phone away from his ear and Harleen, for the first time, could hear the person on the other end. Someone with a deep voice, sounding particularly masculine in her opinion, but stuttering apologies with a fervor she'd never heard before. Joker only responded by rolling his eyes and hanging up.

Joker leaned his head back in exasperation, staring up at the ceiling and forcibly rubbing his face as though to clear his thoughts. "It's true what they say," he commented to her. "You really can't find good help these days."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that...or even how she should be feeling. Her first thought was the implications of the conversation she'd just overheard. And that family… She knew she was gazing distantly, lost in thought. Based on his next words, she guessed that he had noticed it and may have even deduced the reason behind it.

"Here I am, loaning money out of the kindness of my heart," he explained. "And look how I'm repaid! Do you know what would happen if it got out that people were being allowed to squelch on me? Can you even fathom that?" He looked genuinely mystified at the prospect that anyone would try such a thing.

She had to admit that he had a point there. And, more importantly, he had intentionally tried to reign in an emotional outburst and did so successfully, avoiding any form of violence excepting to a glass that he had thrown, now shattered on the floor.

He followed her eyes to where they gazed on the broken glass. "Sorry about that," he offered.

After a considerate pause, she responded, "Well, I'd say that taking your anger out on a glass was a much healthier choice than you have a history of making." Her words sounded colder than she intended them to, as though she were having to force them out.

She thought back to the family mentioned and wondered what would happen. If she should do something. If she _could_ do anything. She quickly came to the realization that she couldn't. She had no idea who any of the people involved were. The only thing she could do was use this moment to a therapeutic advantage, hopefully helping others further down the road. She briefly thought about opening a dialogue immediately, but thought better of it almost instantly.

He had not only purposefully made the decision to regain self-control, but he was openly acknowledging he did so with his apology. And her response to this breakthrough was not the warmest it could have been. Positive social behavior had to be rewarded for it to be expected to continue.

Coming to this conclusion, she offered him a warm smile. "I'm so proud of you!" she commended him.

He scoffed at the comment with a chuckle. "For what? Not destroying more of your things?"

"Well...yeah!" Harleen enthused.

He squinted at her sharply, in a discerning fashion before coming to a decision he'd clearly been working toward for some time. "You're very strange," he decided with finality and perhaps a touch of wonderment.

"No, I'm not!" Harleen insisted. "You're just not used to positive reinforcement, which really is a shame. So many ready to just condemn you, even your former doctors, when it was their job to help you!"

"Positive reinforcement," he mused, as though he'd never heard of such a concept. "Does that mean you're trying to _condition_ my behavior through rewards?"

"NO! Of course not!" she refuted even though his tone didn't indicate he was really upset about the idea. Regardless, it just sounded like something he would not support. "...I mean, it is...kind of...but I'm not being sneaky about it," she explained. "I'm not trying to trick you into it or anything. I've always tried to be very plain about my methods with you, but if you have a problem…"

He immediately put up his hand to halt what was sure to be a long-winded speech about compromise and working together toward similar goals. "I'm not complaining," he explained. "Just wondering what my prize is." He flashed a jovial smile that made her question whether or not he was joking.

"Oh. Well, uh…." she looked around the room absently as though something was going to present itself, while he watched her with amusement. "OH! I know!" She excitedly headed to the kitchen and pulled a cookbook out of a cupboard that clearly hadn't seen much action, among equally unused recipe books.

She opened the cover and pulled out a handwritten notecard. "My mom used to make these for me all the time when she was proud of me or when she wanted to make me feel better." She laughed, realizing something for the first time. "Which meant that I'd always get them after a gym meet, regardless of whether I won or not."

"Come now," Joker added confidently, joining her in the kitchen. "I'll bet you always won."

"Well," Harleen blushed, modestly. "Typically, but that only made me feel all the worse when I didn't. The losses mostly were at the beginning of my athletic career anyway." She chewed her bottom lip nervously.

"What is it?" he asked with a tilt of the head.

"I don't cook very often," she admitted. "And I just realized that I probably don't have the ingredients." Her eyes brightened suddenly. "Don't worry," she offered, heading toward her apartment door. "I'll be right back."

It occurred to Harleen that she had never knocked on any of her neighbor's doors before. But Ms. Murton had asked her for a cup of milk not too long ago, so she was sure she wouldn't mind returning the favor...Even though she would be asking for a lot more than one ingredient.

Harleen knocked, hoping she was in, but fully expecting that would be the case. She seemed to be a homebody from the little Harleen knew of her.

Sure enough, Ms. Murton greeted her warmly, one of her many cats in hand. "What can me and Mr. Friskums do for you today?" she asked kindly, stroking her cat.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I was suddenly in the mood for a snack. I don't have the ingredients, but I just went to the store this weekend and am not looking to head out again. I was wondering if you had any of the items I need," Harleen explained, handing the elderly woman the notecard.

"I completely understand. I don't like to leave the safety of my home any more than I have to either," Ms. Murton agreed. "This city has gotten so dangerous compared to when I was a child. Come on in," she offered, releasing Mr. Friskums and stepping aside to allow Harleen to enter.

She limped, cane in hand into her kitchen. Harleen followed behind, noting the large number of cats and the odor that accompanied them.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't mention all of my babies to the landlord," she asked, seriously. "They say I'm only allowed two," she added with a scoff. "As though we are hurting anything. Isn't that right?" she redirected the question to one of her 'babies'.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harleen promised.

"Well then, help yourself to anything in my kitchen, dearie," she offered.

Harleen started to collect items, feeling slightly as though she were violating the woman's privacy as she had just been given free run to rummage around. The silence made it all the more uncomfortable. "Thanks for this," she broke what she felt to be an awkward moment. "I'm more than happy to return the favor any time. Just let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"Why thank you. I may take you up on that sometime. I don't get around quite as well as I used to after my accident."

"What accident was that?" Harleen asked, thankful that a conversation had begun.

"At work. I was a bookkeeper for one of the larger law firms here in Gotham. Fell off a ladder," Ms. Murton explained. "Never got around quite the same after that."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," she responded genuinely.

"Oh, don't be!" she laughed "I got quite the settlement. Me and my babies are retired quite comfortably."

"Do your children come and help you out much?" Harleen asked.

"Oh no...Nothing like that," Ms. Murton answered distantly.

It was then that Harleen noticed that there wasn't any indicator of such in the woman's house. Nor that of a husband. Even if she had been widowed, surely there would be photographs or mementos. But all she could see indicated the decor was done with only one person in mind. Harleen mused that the cats didn't make it look any less lonely.

As if reading her thoughts, Ms. Murton spoke up once more. "I must say it's nice to have some company. Maybe you can pay me the favor of coming over to chat every once in awhile."

Harleen froze for an instant. Hadn't she just thought this morning how nice it was to have some company? Was this her fate? She watched as one of perhaps a dozen cats padded it's way across the kitchen counter. "That would be lovely," Harleen replied, expertly hiding her feelings.

After she had gathered everything she needed, Ms. Murton escorted her to the door, rather than pressuring her to stay. An act Harleen thought to be more than generous considering how many items she was taking. "Don't be a stranger now," was the last thing she said before shutting the door, leaving her in the hallway.

Harleen instantly decided two things: She would try to make an effort to visit with Ms. Murton at least once a week and, more importantly, this could _never_ be her future.

She returned to her apartment from this sobering experience with her guest none the wiser.

Harleen was quickly distracted from her earlier thoughts involving Ms. Murton, the endangered family the Joker previously threatened, and the fact that she was still in a situation she didn't quite know how to deal with. She was currently faced with the mighty ordeal of cooking, something she didn't have much practice nor success with.

Her first attempt was positively disastrous, much to the Joker's amusement. She wasn't sure if she should be irritated at her failure or grateful that he seemed to take it in stride.

Regardless, it made her all the more determined with her second attempt, which thankfully looked more or less edible. She served him a plate of cookies and a glass of milk, which he was kind enough to be complimentary on. She, on the other hand, knew it couldn't be genuine. They were overdone, being crispy instead of soft. Still, they were sweet at least.

The afternoon that followed included him regaling her with exploits of his past. She considered recording his musings. She wasn't directing the conversation and it was interesting to see where he went via free thought. But ultimately she didn't bother, feeling that formalizing the situation might change the exchange entirely.

That, and she was absolutely enraptured by the fascinating tales of his life. To the point that she worried, as he began teaching her how to play gin rummy, how long he could tolerate being cooped up in her apartment. His world was so big, not like hers, and it was enough to even drive her crazy stuck in here day after day.

This concern expounded as the evening waned. She knew what tomorrow brought. The workweek stopped for no one and she fully expected he'd be gone the next day. Asking him to return with her was out of the question. He'd never go along with it. Still, she wanted to ask him to stay in her home at the very least, but couldn't bring herself to. Instead, she stuck by him as the hour got later and later, avoiding reality.

Late that night, she knew she was losing her battle against sleep. She had been striving to keep herself awake for some time now as they sat on the couch in front of the television's glow. He had been going on about something, but she was too tired and only picking up every other word. Unknowingly, she slumped over, her head now leaning against his chest.

She was on the very edge of sleep, scarcely aware of what was going on around her anymore. All she knew was that he had suddenly stopped talking. She felt him move underneath her as he propped his feet up on her coffee table. The last thing she remembered was hearing him comment, "You're one odd duck, you know that?"

The next morning she awoke with a crick in her neck, finding her head propped up by the arm of the sofa. She didn't need to look around; he was undoubtedly gone. Harleen was almost grateful that she was late for work. Make that very late. It gave her no opportunity to spiral and she threw herself together in a panic, flying out the door as quickly as she could.

Once at work, she was made aware of her patient's disappearance. Arkham himself apologized for not letting her know over the weekend, but explained there wasn't anything she could do and he had decided not to trouble her, allowing her to enjoy her weekend properly.

Harleen couldn't find a reason to get hung up on such trivialities, seeing as she was a full three hours late to work and having to face her boss all at the same time. Instead, she kept apologizing for her tardiness.

"How strange," he commented with a chuckle. "The one day you've been late since you first signed on with us and your patient just happens to not be available. I'd say this is a clear case of 'no harm, no foul.'"

"Yes," Harleen giggled nervously. "It's quite the coincidence."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We highly recommend watching "Arsenic and Old Lace" because it's just the best movie ever. It's not necessary to enjoy this fic, but there will be a couple of inside jokes referencing it. Honestly, there's no reason you should miss out on this infamous macabre comedy. How could it not be one of Joker's favorite films? We'd be shocked if it wasn't on his top ten list.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The M rating starts coming into effect this chapter.

After being basically patient-less for nearly two weeks, Harleen arrived at work one morning in late May to an entirely too chipper Kirkwood informing her that the Joker had been brought in by Batman himself late the previous night.

"He was trying to poison a bunch of silly string or something," related Kirkwood, shaking his head. "Batman knocked him around, so they brought him to the hospital wing, but it's only some bruises and cuts. He's probably going right to his cell this afternoon."

With a surge of excitement, Harleen scheduled a therapy session for late that afternoon, assuming that she'd have all day to prepare.

Unfortunately, she found herself standing in a large conference room with about twenty other doctors and various employees. The asylum was on lockdown for the third time in a month, not unusual for the facility, particularly with the number of times they practiced such drills. This time, however, Killer Croc was responsible, which always meant bloodshed.

Harleen had been preparing to go to lunch when the alert came over the loudspeakers and she was stuffed into the nearest meeting room by a few of the rookie guards. All of the seasoned soldiers were presumably dealing with Croc. She briefly caught sight of a tense-looking Jeremy, but not Sean, and wondered if he had been caught up in the carnage.

With a large table dominating most of the room, there wasn't a lot of space for everyone to stand, so some had gathered in clusters around the electrical outlets, sitting the wait out with a charging laptop. Others had commandeered portions of the table for finishing paperwork, with one guy just straight-up eating his cobb salad there. Most of the gathered, however, were leaning awkwardly against the wall, murmuring to each other about what had been happening before they'd arrived. One frizzy-haired lady was sobbing while a small group spoke to her in soothing tones and occasionally hugged her.

"That's one of the people from the IT department," Joan had explained, after her arrival. "Apparently, she and another guy were checking some wiring outside the containment section when Croc escaped. He got her friend and she ran like hell."

"Oh, that poor thing," Harleen said, trying to put the same horrified sympathy into her tone that Joan had. Not only was she hungry and craving a cigarette, but neither of them knew that woman. Harleen had a difficult time playing the "social niceties" game when it came to stuff like that. Knowing what to say or do in these situations never came naturally, so she tended to mimic those around her who seemed to put on the best show of it.

Unlike most people, though, Harleen knew that Joan did sincerely feel for others, which is why she preferred the "high potential for rehabilitation" patients. Not that Harleen looked down on her as a doctor for avoiding the more 'difficult' patients. After all, Joan was much more experienced and knowledgeable than herself, but...she was a softy. There was no career mobility in working with the lower-end deranged.

They settled on a wall near the lone plastic ficus, which was a tad dusty. There were no live plants allowed in the building since Poison Ivy had become a regular, but the custodians obviously didn't feel that dusting the wax or silk greenery was needed.

Harleen tried to take her mind off of her hunger and nicotine cravings by idly playing puzzle games on her phone, but gave up after only five minutes. The crying IT lady wasn't helping her state of mind.

"I'm _starving_ ," she complained to Joan, who was updating patient reports on her tablet.

Joan gave her a chiding glace that mocked the look a mother might give her child for not taking a given situation seriously enough. From anyone else, it would have made Harleen feel incredibly insecure, striving as she was to escape the trappings her youth placed on her in this facility. But, from Joan, it somehow was less bothersome.

"Well, I am," she whined playfully. "First rule of survival and all that."

"I think I have a granola bar," Joan offered, reaching into her pocket. They split it between them, Harley nibbling on it slowly to make it last longer.

"How long you think we'll be stuck in here?" Harleen asked.

"Someplace better to be?" Joan teased, eyes still on her tablet screen.

"I had scheduled a therapy session," she explained. "Only now with this going on, I don't know if it's going to end up happening."

Joan stopped what she was doing in consideration, before giving Harleen her full attention. "Wasn't the Joker only brought in last night?"

"Yeah," Harleen verified, noting her concern but unsure of the reason behind it.

"Harleen, I'm your mentor and it's my job to give you advice, so please don't take this wrong way when I say you need to slow down. He just got here and you're only now aware of it. Give him time to settle in and give yourself time to plan a thoughtful session," she warned. "You don't want to seem over-eager."

"I had considered that," she began defensively, though truth be told she _was_ over-eager. "But, as you know, he has a tendency of manipulation and I thought it best to catch him quickly and off guard. While I might not have had time to prepare for him, he won't have had time to prepare for me either."

After briefly contemplating her words, Joan consented with a simple, "Just be careful," and returned her attention to her patient reports.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late, Doc," Joker quipped as he was escorted in by Jeremy and a rather haggard-looking Sean, whom Harleen was happy to see made it through the ordeal. "Traffic was _murder_ today."

At that comment, Sean abruptly shoved him onto the sofa. Harleen immediately rose to her feet to protest, before his counterpart took over.

"Calm down," Jeremy whispered to his partner while cuffing Joker's ankle to the leg of the couch. "You need this job, man."

"That monster killed four people today! Good people!" Sean shouted, more to Jeremy than to the Joker himself.

"Of course he did, they don't call him Cuddles Croc!" Joker exclaimed and immediately erupted into a fit of laughter at the image he had just given himself.

Sean lunged at him before being forcefully held back by Jeremy. Harleen had never seen Sean angry before, but she supposed that the adrenaline was still pumping from the Croc situation.

" _Byrant_ ," Harleen warned with an edge in her voice, looking straight at Jeremy.

"I know, I know," he hastily replied. "I got him. He's just had a rough day. Come on, Sean," he began pulling his friend out of the room. "You don't need this."

Sean eyed Joker on his way out of the room. Joker responded to this gesture with a friendly wave as the door closed behind him.

"I'm so sorry about that," Harleen apologized as soon as they were left alone. "If you want to log a complaint or anything, I'd underst-"

"For that?" Joker cut her off, making a dismissive gesture with one of his cuffed hands. "Toots, that's nothing compared to what they've done to me in here."

"Who? The guards?!" she exclaimed, aghast. "Are you serious?!"

"Of course," Joker replied, even-tempered. "I imagine it's a defense mechanism. You can hardly blame them. I mean, just look at what happened today. There's a massacre around every corner."

"That doesn't make it okay!" Harleen retorted.

"I don't suppose so," Joker shrugged. "But what can ya do?"

Harleen's head was swimming with the number of times recorded that her patient had attacked someone within the asylum's walls and now she couldn't help but wonder how many times it was under self-defense or retaliation. Of course, none of that would be logged in his files that she'd meticulously gone over again and again. How could she possibly treat someone without knowing all the facts? How-

"You alright?" Joker asked, shaking her from her thoughts. "You look tense."

She forced her face to relax, pushing the tension down deeper where it would undoubtedly fester. "I was just thinking about how violence begets more violence," she sighed.

"Like today. Lots of excitement today," Joker agreed with a smile. "I've missed this place. There's always something happening. You seemed to have fared through it okay."

"Me? Oh, yeah, I got locked in a room for nearly two hours. I hate lockdowns," she admitted, happy for the change in subject.

"What part of it in particular bothers you?" he inquired, leaning forward slightly. "Fear? Stress? Worry over your possible impending demise?"

"Annoyance mostly," Harleen answered. "They're incredibly irritating."

Joker grunted thoughtfully. "You don't say…"

"Even the drills," she elaborated. "They take time away from your day. Break your routine. But those are at least relatively quick, no more than twenty minutes."

"And the real thing takes up more of your...time?" Joker prodded with interest.

"Well, sure, but that's the least of it really. I could deal with that. Like today. I was hungry-"

"Not as hungry as Croc from what I hear!" Joker interrupted jovially. "But do go on."

Harleen giggled. "Anyway, it happened right before lunch, y'know. But, like I said, that was just a minor thing really. But then there was an acquaintance of mine stressing out and this other woman that was having a complete meltdown. And, it's just...y'know..." She sighed in exasperation, recalling the experience she'd endured.

"Not really," he confessed. "I mean, it sounds like it'd be annoying to me, but I'm guessing not for the same reason."

She paused, feeling slightly embarrassed, before explaining. "You have to play the game."

"The game?" Joker repeated, in a voice that Harleen would feel comfortable as labeling 'intrigued'.

"Yeah, the game. Y'know, the 'social niceties' game."

"OH! Wait...No. No, I'm not familiar with that game," he teased.

"I don't imagine you would be," she played along with a smirk. "I hope it doesn't bruise your ego too much to hear that you wouldn't be very good at it."

"I take it you are then? How do you play? Not that it matters. It doesn't sound like a fun game at all," Joker sneered, playfully.

"It's not and I'm not great at it myself, but I make do," Harleen began. "The 'social niceties' game is when you do what society expects of you even when it doesn't come naturally or occurs to you on your own. You do it because others expect it of you. The object of the game is for your behavior to not reflect badly on you."

"I'm almost afraid to ask how you win," he remarked with an exaggerated grimace.

"You win when everyone thinks you have lovely manners and are conforming to society's norms," she finished with a forced smile.

"That...That is the worst game I've ever heard," Joker stated in awe. "That game is my hell. You've just described my hell."

"Welcome to my world," Harleen scoffed, gesturing to herself.

"But what's this have to do with the lockdown specifically?" he asked.

"Well, I escaped it mostly this time because of a co-worker I'm familiar with. I used socializing with her as an excuse. But typically you have to offer condolences and comfort and...it's really difficult when you don't even know the person!"

"And you have to play this game every time there's a lockdown?"

"I have to play this game _everyday_!" she corrected. "But it's worse with stressful things like lockdowns because your response is supposed to be greater than the simple 'How was your weekend?' when you really don't care how their weekend was. I'm always worried I come across forced, because it feels forced."

"But it is forced," Joker explained. "You said it doesn't come naturally."

"Yeah, but that's how it is for everyone. The thing is, I can't help but feel that other people are better at it than me," she tried to explain, before dismissing the thought with a shake of her head. "I'm sure it's just paranoia on my part."

"Well, if this is what comes of sanity, I want no part of it," he declared.

She laughed at his defiant expression. "Well, it's not all that bad. It's a lot easier when you know the person and care about them. Then it does come naturally."

"So," the Joker summarized, "You don't care about what happens to anyone here then, is what you're saying,"

"You're oversimplifying it. Just because someone doesn't get all in a tizzy when someone they don't know is undergoing a tragedy doesn't mean that person doesn't care if something bad happens to them. I don't _want_ anything bad to happen to anyone."

"But you won't get too broken up about it if something bad _does_ happen to someone...so long as you don't know that person," Joker concluded.

"That's a very crude way of putting it…," Harleen said uncomfortably, fidgeting a little in her chair. "Basically, all I'm saying is that everyone reacts insincere from time to time to keep up appearances and I just feel really awkward doing it."

"That's because you are a very genuine person," Joker responded, giving her a very complimentary smile.

"I...I never thought of it that way…," she admitted, a smile of her own breaking through. "Yes! Yes, that's it exactly!"

"But surely there is someone you do care about. Someone that doesn't make you feel like you have to put on this facade."

"Oh, sure," Harleen agreed. "There's my family...ummm...my mentor here at Arkham. She's a peach. Uh...There's you, of course.."

His grin twitching upward just a touch, the Joker leaned back against the couch cushions. Though his wrists were still cuffed, his fingers were splayed almost obscenely between his legs. Maybe it was just obscene to Harleen, her eyes quickly darting back to her notepad. It was still blank.

Moving before she forced herself to think, she sat the pad and pen on the arm of her chair and stood. Distantly, she heard the tap of her black heels on the tile and the soft rustle of her coat as the useless glasses slid into the pocket.

The Joker escalated his right eyebrow as she moved over the red line. "My, my...looks like the rogue and not the scholar," he said, when she sat down beside him on the couch. "Too cool for med school, Doc?"

Harleen giggled, leaning over and pressing her lips to his. After a brief moment of hesitation, he was kissing her back. She wasn't as alarmed as she should have been when his no-longer cuffed hands pulled her closer to him by her lapels. It was like before, only two months prior, but this time that nagging, confusing dread she'd felt was gone.

As well as the comforting notion that she had any real power over him.

"I missed you," Harleen confessed, pulling away briefly from his mouth. "It's such a stupid thing to say, I know-"

"I'm an easily missed individual, Harley-girl." His long, white fingers popped one, two, three buttons on her green oxford, his mouth diving towards her neck. She hadn't had a guy's hand on her bra in a while and briefly tried to recall if she was wearing one of her worse ones, which would be rather embarrassing. It wasn't like she'd dressed that morning thinking anyone would see…

Her eyes fluttered involuntarily as his mouth reached the transition point between her neck and shoulder, right after which the tips of his fingers pinched her right nipple. When had his hands bypassed her bra? Why did that bother her more than his cuffs being off?

But such questions were swept away the moment his right hand skated up her skirt. She was practically straddling him already, but his skin against her thigh brought it to her attention. Harleen didn't often wear hose during the summer and was very glad of the fact as his fingertips slipped beneath the edge of her panties.

Instinctively, she shifted her legs apart further, his skin dancing along hers in an exploratory fashion. She was very sensitive to intimate touch, always had been compared to other girls she talked to, and every twist of her nipple surged right downstairs.

"You're practically soaking, Doc," he purred into her neck, nibbling right where her collar would cover. "How long do we have?"

"Double session," Harleen replied with great effort, having moved beyond speech in her advanced state of arousal. "Twenty more minutes."

She felt his smile against her skin. "Why, that's just long enough, isn't it."

Harleen was caught off guard by his long fingers sliding so quickly into her, with enough force that she groaned into his shoulder. It would have hurt if she wasn't so slick, she knew. It had been awhile since she'd used that _particular_ item in her bedside table.

The room, the time, the whole fucking city, melted away as she ground against his hand, incoherent little moans escaping from her lips. His thumbnail brushed her clit each time, on the way up, and Harleen was at the very edge of the quickest orgasm in her life.

He moved his mouth from her neck, where there felt like there'd be marks, and spoke quietly, huskily against her ear. "You're incredibly responsive to treatment, Doctor. But I want to see you _come undone_."

It was powerful. Her sudden scream was pre-emptively muffled by his hand that had been fondling her breast slapping over her mouth. Every spasm rocked through her, instinct moving her hips.

After what could have been an eon, Harleen stilled and, panting, slumped boneless against him. His hand had moved from her mouth by that point, resting behind her on the back of the couch. His right hand, the one that had been under her skirt, he was gazing at with almost bored curiosity. Her fluids were coating his fingers, glistening in the humming fluorescent light.

He stuck them in his mouth.

It was such a starkly intimate gesture that Harleen heard a small noise exit her throat, perhaps a sigh mixed with a moan. He turned his head to look at her.

He smiled and she felt a girlish squeal threatening to erupt, but she squashed it down. Instead, she returned it in what she knew was a probably dopey-looking fashion.

"That was...God, that was so fucking wonderful," she breathed out, dragging her hand along the front of his orange-clad chest. He didn't look it, but he had the wiry sort of muscle and _fuck_ it felt so nice.

"I keep saying that you need to relax more often," he replied, dipping his head down to press another kiss to her lips.

Harleen let her hand drift down his chest, reaching his waistband. She could see that he had an erection, the loose uniform pants didn't hide much, and started to slide her fingers underneath. Reciprocation was the polite thing to do and she couldn't deny that she was eager to give him the pleasure.

As soon as her fingertips made contact with his skin, his face pulled away from hers and her wrist was painfully snatched up, the force of his grip sudden and bruising.

He was no longer smiling.

" _Did I say that you could touch me_ ,"he hissed sharply, gripping her wrist tighter.

Frightened, Harleen pulled back from him on the couch and was at a loss for words. What had happened? Still scowling at her, he released her wrist and Harleen stood immediately, on shaking legs. The silence filling the room was suffocating. Turning away from him, she mechanically went through the motions of adjusting her clothes and schooling her face into an indifferent mask.

The stylishly thick glasses went back on and she took a deep breath before going to the door and knocking for the guards to enter.

* * *

Harleen locked herself away in her office for the remainder of the day until, she could leave for home unnoticed. She spent that evening shoveling the forgotten pint of ice cream that had been hiding in the back of the freezer into her mouth, wondering how she had gotten herself into this predicament.

She curled into a corner of the couch, not bothering with the lights, sobbing into her bucket of strawberry cheesecake swirl while pondering all the consequences of the day's events.

What if he took her suggestion about Sean and logged a complaint about her? The repercussions of that were too big to even think about!

She reminded herself that it was still her word against his. She repeated to herself, even aloud, that no one would believe him over her. She knew this to be true, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be changes made on Arkham's behalf simply from the accusations.

They'd take him away from her. What other choice would they have? And, even on the off chance they didn't, how could she possibly face him again with them both knowing she'd told such a blatant lie! A lie that hurt the person she was supposed to be treating!

She sobbed deeply into the now mostly empty ice cream container.

 _Why had he gotten so upset anyway?_ she growled at the thought, throwing the cardboard bucket at the wall. It made a hollow sound on contact before settling on its side on the floor, the act ultimately bringing her little satisfaction.

Did she cross some line? ...Well, _clearly_ she had professionally, but did she make him feel personally violated in some way? That was never her intent. Why would he have taken it there if _he_ didn't want to go there?

She was literally pulling at her hair in desperation now that her hands didn't have ice cream to keep them busy. Her hair stuck out unnaturally between her fingers.

More importantly, what was she supposed to do about it now? How could she possibly know when she wasn't even sure what she had done wrong?!

It was late. Later than she thought. She wasn't any less wound up than when she first entered her apartment and another day at work loomed before her. She briefly considered calling in sick tomorrow, but realized doing so would only bring her another day of going out of her mind. It occurred to her that she had been pacing back and forth in her living room and absently wondered how long she had been doing so.

She finally made the decision to take some sleeping aids and try to get a few hours rest before she had to face the next day. Unfortunately, even self-medication wouldn't make her mind slow down enough to fall asleep. Instead, she spent the night alternating between tears of self-pity and tears of anger as she replayed the incident over and over again.

When her alarm went off, she mechanically rose out of bed and prepared for whatever she had to face. She could not spend another night like this.

Harleen was relieved when she arrived at work and no one seemed to be treating her any differently. The same nameless faces greeted her good morning, with the exception of one or two asking if she slept okay. One look in the mirror would tell you why. Her makeup could only do so much to cover a night of psychological torment and her eyes were bloodshot from tears and lack of sleep. She quickly made an excuse about allergies, even though it was getting out of season for that sort of thing.

She arrived at her office and there wasn't a message or email from Jeremiah Arkham requesting her for any reason. As relief continued to wash over her, it melted away into an unsettling feeling of indecision. The Joker clearly had not said anything, which meant the next move was hers...so what should it be?

Her first instinct was to just let it go. She had another session with him scheduled in a week and it could wait until then. Perhaps giving it time would allow things to cool down.

As she was considering her options, Kirkwood suddenly burst in on her. If her mind hadn't been elsewhere it wouldn't have shocked her like it had. After all, he had been making it a habit to show up about the same time everyday with coffee and a danish from the breakroom for her. It had gotten to the point where he didn't even bother knocking anymore. A fact that irritated her, but seemed a difficult subject to broach when he was so sickeningly nice about it.

"Good morning!" he chimed, sitting the expected danish and coffee on her desk. "Don't worry," he added, dumping a pile of artificial sugar packets next to the cup. "I know how you like your coffee. Say...did you get any sleep last night?"

Harleen clenched her fist tightly under her desk. "I can't do this today," she stated coldly.

"...Do what?" he asked, expression full of concern.

"I can't play the game today," she added under her breath, unaware she had done so aloud.

"What game?" he asked again.

"I'm not feeling well," she answered without hesitation. "Allergies. You're right, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Maybe you should go home for the day then," he suggested, helpfully. "I'm sure everyone would understand."

"I'm not going home," she stated matter-of-factly. "I've got too much to do here. Now, if you would be so kind as to-"

"Would you like me to give you a check up, real quick, just to be sure," he offered. "Allergy season is basically over-"

"Kirkwood!" she nearly growled.

"I keep telling you that you can call me Glenn," he reminded her.

She took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not really feeling up to socializing right now. All I want is to get through the day, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, alright," he agreed with disappointment while heading for her office door. "The offer still stands if you change your mind."

After that awkward bit of socialization, she knew she couldn't wait until their next session. She couldn't spend the entire week on edge like this. She went to her computer and immediately set up a session for early that afternoon. A bit unorthodox on such short notice, but not unheard of.

The hours until then seemed to stretch forever. She spent them doing little else but visualizing what she was going to say over and over again until she had it perfect.

* * *

"Fancy seeing you again so soo-" the Joker began cheerfully as the guards deposited him on the couch, but stopped upon seeing his doctor's face. He continued in a more solemn tone after the guards had left them alone, "Say, you don't look so-"

"It's allergies!" she snapped and just like that all her meticulous planning throughout the morning had gone out the window. "And why is everyone so concerned with how I look? Not that it hasn't always been the case. I could have fucking gotten here without them if they'd have let me, just so you know!"

Joker cocked one eyebrow up with intrigue. "Do 'allergies' come with a side effect of 'bitchiness'? If so, I think you have a pretty bad case."

"I didn't call you here to start an argument," she replied coldly. "And you can lose the attitude."

" _Me_?" he looked around the empty room for as though he had a crowd of supporters. "Women," he snarled to himself. "Listen, doll, before you say something that will really get you in some trouble. If I didn't know why you set up this session, I'd have already lost my patience."

Harley ripped off her glasses and rubbed her weary eyes. "Please," she begged. "Do _not_ say something lewd. That's not why-"

"Stop talking," he ordered with such dominance that she stopped short before opening her mouth again to protest. " _No_ ," he insisted, a harsh edge to his voice. "You got to have your little hissy fit. It's my turn now."

She slowly closed her mouth once more, unsure of how else she should respond. What to do when getting involved with your patient who abruptly seems to become disinterested was sorely missing from her education.

"You've got to know this isn't easy for me," he began, looking her dead in the eyes. "Are you actively trying to make it more difficult? Why would you do that?"

"…I'm sorry?" she offered, after a pause.

"Is that an apology?" he asked genuinely. "I can't tell. I'm new at this."

"No. I mean, yes!" she hastily answered. "I mean…I'm confused."

He sighed deep and low and looked up at the ceiling as if trying to figure out how to continue. She assumed that he had found the words he was searching for after he smiled and returned his gaze to her. "I'm not comfortable with having my personal space violated. It's not something I'm accustomed to. Surely you'd understand that."

Harleen almost immediately came apart right then, unprofessional though it was. The night's stress had taken its toll and having made her patient feel violated, as she had feared, was the last straw.

"I didn't mean to," she choked. "You-you were actively participating, so I thought…"

"That was on my terms. I like things on my terms," he explained. "Do you think that might have something to with having so little control here in the asylum and even abroad with my tumultuous lifestyle?" he asked clinically, despite the fact that she was weeping openly in front of him.

"M-Maybe," she sputtered, nearly incoherently.

"Awww, I didn't mean to upset you," he cooed, sweetly, having already worked his way out of his wrist cuffs. "Come here."

Without hesitation, she rose to her feet and nearly raced to him before abruptly stopping in front of the couch. "Are you sure?" she sniffed.

"Yes," he chuckled quietly. "My terms, remember?"

"Oh good," she hiccuped before diving into him, burying her face in his chest. "I had the worst night ever!" she cried.

"I know, I know," he soothed, stroking her back. "It wasn't very nice of me to scare you like that."

She looked up at him imploringly. "You shouldn't be the one apologizing," she admonished, her cheeks wet with tears. "I should be. And I am. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

As he held her in his arms, it occurred to her that anyone else would see this gesture as another form of manipulation from the notorious madman. But she knew better. He'd never used anything like this on anyone before. She should know after all the study she'd put into her patient. And while he was certainly capable of trying such mind games, he'd only ever been absolutely genuine with her. She took comfort in these thoughts as she slowly began to calm down.

With another hiccup, Harleen drew away from the Joker and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue he silently handed her. She was glad that everyone already thought she was suffering from allergies, because her makeup was probably done for and itchy, watery eyes were a good enough excuse for smeared eyeliner.

"I guess we should at least _try_ to talk shop before time is up," she sighed, giving him what was probably a very dopey, watery smile. "By the way," she added, with a little laugh before she could continue. "...Silly string?"

His laugh was immediate and she thought maybe she could ride the high that gave her for a good eon.

"It was a perfectly sound idea at the time," the Joker explained, still chuckling. "Most of them are!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it can't be denied that the Joker clearly led Harley off the straight and narrow, there's no way someone could be led so astray by someone so far from the norm without having issues of their own. We theorize that Harley had a history of lack of empathy.
> 
> By that we mean, if she's not personally involved with the individual in question, she has a hard time feeling anything toward that person, as though they were practically a non-entity. This is certainly a self-centered position to take on life, but along with this theory, we doubt she's even aware she has an issue. (This is the case with most suffering from some form of mental abnormality.) Harley has no other standard of thinking or feeling other than what she's accustomed to. As such, she believes everyone expressing empathy for unknowns is ingenuine from most people and putting on a show dictated by society.


	7. Chapter 7

The next three weeks went smoothly, with Harleen gradually slipping double the therapy sessions into the Joker’s schedule. She had even prepared appropriately detailed session reports so she could keep her story straight for any surprise administration probes on her specific progress. Though she began far more detailed than she needed, as June moved along there was growing vagueness as she became more absorbed with spending as much time face to face with him as she felt she could get away with.

Predictably, they didn’t “talk shop” (as Joker referred to therapy) as frequently, leaving Harleen to struggle increasingly with making up a summary of imaginary events to replace the actual heart-to-hearts they were having. Naturally, she mentioned this to him and he had a series of helpful (“Patient expressed disappointment with society, but seemed hopeful about rehabilitation”) and not at all helpful (“Patient engaged in a long discussion of which dinosaurs would have tasted best”) suggestions.

It was towards the end of a Friday session when he casually announced his impending departure from Arkham.

“Just giving you a heads up, I’m going to be taking a powder from our dear Happydale later today,” he’d said, as if he’d been a normal person telling another normal person they were going to take a nice stroll.

“What? No!” Harleen had exclaimed, before thinking it through. “You can’t leave…” _Me._ “...therapy.”

Joker chuckled and shook his head. “You are just _too much_ sometimes, ya know that?” Perhaps seeing the disappointment splashed on her face, he added, “Come on now, Doctor Harley, you know how this goes. I’ll be back before you can say ‘ice cream sundae’.”

“Ice cream sundae,” she blurted out.

That got a big laugh.

* * *

After their session, her mind was made up by the time she got back to her office. It was only noon, but there was no way she could wait through several more hours of work before getting prepared for the inevitable. There was nothing at her apartment for him to eat, nothing he’d touch anyway, and she needed to do a thousand little things to get the place suitable after the weeks of only minimal-effort upkeep. (She was pretty sure there were enough splotches of liquid foundation in her sink to paint a life-size portrait.) 

Forcing her nervous excitement into a more mundane harriedness, she headed to Joan’s office, hoping to catch her before she went to lunch. Along the way, she formulated the excuse, turning it over repeatedly in her mind, looking for rough edges. _Old college gymnastics teammates in town, last minute get together._ As she’d hoped, Joan was not only still in her office, but was more than happy to take Harleen’s weekly shift overseeing the interns in observations.

“I’m so sorry to spring this on you, but I haven’t seen these girls since college and I haven’t had time to get the place ready…”

“It’s no big deal,” Joan replied, with a wave of her hand. “I understand how it is. You go have a good time! I’ll tell them something vague about ‘an appointment’ you had.”

Harleen didn’t miss the irony of Joan lying for her because of her _own_ lie, but sighed in genuine relief. “Thank you _so much_ , Joan. I totally owe you one.”

“Just have some cocktails and enjoy catching up. You need to take time for yourself in this job, it’s important.”

* * *

Harleen was struggling to her door, lugging multiple plastic bags and fumbling for her keys, when Ms. Murton walked out of her apartment, locking the door. 

“You’re home early,” Ms. Murton trilled, silently offering to help her by taking two of the bags out  of her hands. “I was just off for my monthly grocery shopping myself,” she continued, while Harleen managed to open the door. “I wanted to get it finished in time for our visit.” 

In the excitement, Harleen had completely forgotten her weekly visit with Ms. Murton, as had become a ritual for them both on Fridays. She hated to disappoint her, but what could be done? 

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized as they both entered her apartment, setting the bags down in the kitchen. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to visit with you today. I’m expecting company. It was _very_ last minute.” 

“Well, it’s about time,” the elderly woman smiled, beginning to empty the grocery bags. “You should be spending time with people your own age. Just try not to forget about me in the process. I do so enjoy the company.”

“I won’t,” Harleen promised. “You have nothing to worry about anyway. You know how rarely I socialize…”

“Is it a young man?” she asked with an edge of scandal.

“Ms. Murton!” Harleen laughed. “I never!” she added with mock haughtiness, sticking her nose playfully in the air. 

Ms. Murton laughed with her, before taking inventory of the contents she’d been unloading. “Oh my! Harleen, I never would have taken you for having such a sweet tooth. You’re so _fit_.” 

“It’s not me,” Harleen explained. “It’s my friend.” 

“Oh, I see,” she nodded. “Well, it’s awfully nice of you to be so accommodating, particularly since you said you weren’t given much notice. Do you have time before I go for a chat over a smoke, dear?” Ms. Murton asked, already digging through her purse for her pack of cigarettes. 

“I-I honestly have no idea,” she laughed again. “I’m not quite sure what time to expect him.”

“Ah, so it is a young man,” Ms. Murton winked, as Harleen blushed. “Well, I best scoot then. I hope to see you next week, my dear.”

Left alone, she quickly put away anything that needed to be refrigerated, then temporarily left the rest, picking up a lone bag and heading to the bathroom. She started unpacking a small collection of men’s toiletries. It had occurred to her at one point that she never had any such supplies available for him in the past, except a tooth brush, and with them maybe he’d stay for a longer stretch of time.

She carefully made sure her home was tidy and straightened, not that she thought he’d particularly care. Perhaps she was doing it to make a good impression, as she’d been taught to do most of her life.

It was early evening and it occurred to her that she probably had a wait in front of her as he’d be waiting until security was lower late that night. She tried to slow her nervous energy, thinking how nice it was to expect him for a change rather than being taken unawares, which had proven to be quite disconcerting at first.

Then, unexpectedly, anxiety took ahold of Harleen, as it occurred to her that she might have jumped the gun. He had never actually said that he was coming, after all. Just that he was leaving Arkham. She glanced at all the junk food strewn about her kitchen, embarrassed at the possibility that she had just put forth a lot of effort into nothing. And it would be Lord knows how many hours before she’d know for sure.

A sudden knock at the door broke her train of thought as she headed for it excitedly, pausing briefly to check herself in a mirror. “I’m coming,” she called, politely, straightening her hair with fingers and slightly upset that she hadn’t cleaned up the kitchen before his arrival.

She opened the door to find the Joker leaning casually against the doorframe, Harley beamed happily and allowed him in.

“Sure you don’t want to scream at me first?” he teased, stepping inside.

“You startled me last time and I was still half asleep,” she replied with some sassiness,  before changing the subject. “I didn’t expect you so early. You escaped in the middle of the day?”

“Sure, they never saw it coming. Have to keep the guards on their toes, y’know,” Joker explained. “Helps build character.”

“Yes, but how did you get to my apartment without being seen?  It’s nearly rush hour! ...You...you weren’t seen, were you?” she asked nervously.

“And tarnish my good doctors reputation?  Perish the thought!” he vowed, sounding wounded. “You’re near the top floor. I came down from the roof. Besides,” he continued, eyebrow raised, “I didn’t expect you here this early either. Thought I was going to have to force an entry. What’s your explanation?”

“Oh, I left work early,” Harleen replied, venturing into the kitchen, his eyes following her. “I thought I’d run to the store before you came.”

“Did you now,” he breathed in suprised satisfaction, eyes wide. “How about that..”

She returned to putting away groceries. “I thought tonight we could have-”

“No,” he commanded. “And stop putting those away.”

She slowly put down two boxes of sugary cereal. “But...I didn’t even tell you-”

“We’re going out!” he interrupted triumphantly.

Harleen paused and then broke out in laughter at what she was assumed was a joke, until it was clear from his expression that it wasn’t intended as such. “We can’t go out,” she twittered nervously.

“Why not?” he asked, defiant.

“Because…” she sputtered, unsure why this even required an explanation. “Because we _can’t!_ ”

“I don’t understand you. I’m trying here. _Actually trying._ You’ve already expressed that thinking of others doesn’t come natural to you. Think about how much more _unnatural_ it is for _me_!” he ranted and began pacing back and forth. “You went through all this trouble and I just wanted to do something to say ‘thank you’. Me. The Joker. And your response is _‘we can’t’?_  What is the point of-”

“Okay, okay!” Harleen stopped him, holding up her hands. “I-I didn’t know it meant so much to you. But-but-” she stammered. “Surely you can see the problems associated with... _’going out’._  

“You leave that to me,” he assured her, taking her by the arm and pulling her out of the kitchen. “I’ll take care of this,” he nodded to the kitchen, pushing her toward the bedroom door. “You get ready. Nothing fancy.”  

Harleen was abruptly left in her bedroom as the door closed behind her, looking rather dumbfounded. Finding herself in yet another predicament that she wasn’t sure how to overcome. How was he going to take care of a public outing? And how could she back out without seeming ungrateful?  

She bit her lower lip nervously, trying to develop some feasible plan of action. Outside her door, she could hear him humming, while kindly putting away the remainder of groceries. A _grand gesture_ as far as he was concerned, she knew.

She sighed and started to remove her work clothes, trying to identify the tune he was humming. It was familiar, but she still couldn’t quite place it. Then, so were a lot of things he introduced her to.

She struggled with determining what ‘nothing fancy’ could possibly mean to him, settling on a pair of gray cigarette jeans and, not willing to submit to a t-shirt, a black tank that had a black lace short sleeve over it. It was still casual, but there were some red roses embroidered onto the front that helped it pass for a decent going out top. It was a hard job trying to dress acceptably when you didn’t know if you’d need to be presentable or...active. The sturdy, yet stylish, boots she chose to wear were both.

While setting out her selection and turning to the bathroom, she considered what to do about her present situation, ultimately deciding that she would simply back out of anything that felt uncomfortable or public. Furthermore, she reconciled that it would be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Who else had ever been able to study and analyze the Joker unincarcerated?  How could she pass that up?  

She took a lengthy shower and reapplied her make-up slowly, trying to make time stretch. She was hoping to leave as late as possible, not wanting anyone to see the company she kept. Not that she was particularly ashamed of it, but not many would understand.

She spent an hour and a half doing this and, though the sky was dimming, it could hardly be called dark. Still, she couldn’t think what else she could possibly do to stall any longer and emerged from her bedroom to find the kitchen tidy, but, oddly, the Joker was nowhere in sight.

She looked curiously around the living room, anxiously wondering what might have happened, and ventured into the kitchen where she found a note.

 

_Got to get spruced up myself. Wouldn’t be caught dead out and about in this orange jumpsuit. See you in a bit. Ta! - J_

 

Harleen smiled to herself, grateful that more time would pass this way, plopped herself onto the couch and turned on the television to wait. The wait ended up being a few hours, but Harleen found herself less paranoid about his absence than she’d been in the past, even as his breakout finally reached the news. Why go through all this not to show back up?  And, after all, she had no idea what kind of difficulty was associated with reorienting oneself after being incarcerated. Where was he going to ‘spruce up’? Where would he find a change of clothes?

All of these questions went unanswered as he showed up back in her doorway around nine that night. At first, she didn’t know why his presence suddenly seemed so much _more_ larger than life than he was a few hours previous, until she realized that she had never before seen him in his traditional get-up before. Pictures, certainly, but not in person.

Harleen knew she had gaped at him stupidly for a moment, grateful that he didn’t seem to notice as he was preening himself. Suddenly, she felt woefully underdressed next to his tailored suit.

It didn’t help that he seemed to take inventory of her with a disapproving look.

“Put your hair up,” he instructed simply, returning to admire his reflection in her living room mirror.

Harleen nearly explained that he had directed her to look casual, but decided against it, returning instead to her bathroom to replace the tight bun. She briefly considered that he usually saw her this way and it might make him feel comfortable, but then remembered that she had opted to let her hair down because he had once told her that it made her look ‘less stuffy’.

Regardless, she returned to the living room, only to have him regard her with an exasperated look.

“No, no,” he sighed. “Just...come here.”  He pulled her in front of the same mirror he’d been using and started removing bobby pins from her hair, until the bun had fallen out and she was left with the elastic holding a high ponytail. “There,” he replied approvingly. “That’s better anyway. Just because we don’t want you to end up a tangled mess doesn’t mean you have to look so severe.”  
  
“I have no idea what any of that means,” Harleen admitted, but smiled at her reflection.

“You will,” he promised. “We’re going to have a blast!”

This was all well and good, until he actually opened her apartment door, at which point panic set in, which she tried to contain with a purposeful cool expression. Her mind could only handle one issue at a time and it was currently set on how he planned to get her past the lobby unnoticed.

 _Who in their right mind would have agreed to this?_ her brain shouted at her, but with little room to back out now. Her hand was taken in his after the hallway had been confirmed vacant and he pulled her out.

Being guided down the hall toward the elevators, she was moments away from hyperventilating and her concern over the embarrassment that would accompany such a pitiful act only compounded its inevitability.

Just as she thought she might succumb, he forwent the elevators and redirected into the stairwell instead. This did not surprise her, making sense as more people used the elevators, but the direction he took did. He was pulling her upward, rather than down to the bottom floor.

Harleen’s apartment was only two floors from the top and she knew the further they ascended the less likely they were to bump into anyone, helping to alleviate her encroaching panic attack.

Once at the top floor, he continued into a utility room that led to the roof. The door to the outside clearly had already been forced by him earlier and they exited without incident.

Standing safely on the roof, Harleen, to Joker’s amusement, exhaled greatly with relief.

“The last time I had someone clenching my hand that tightly, it was because I had it around their throat. I told you to trust me,” he chided.

“Yeah, well,” Harley whispered softly in embarrassment. “This is new territory for me.” 

“You worry too much,” he commented simply. “Let’s see what we can do about that,” he added. Without warning, he jumped from her apartment building to a slightly lower one adjacent.

It wasn’t a long jump, Harleen knew. _Still it’s a long way down_ , she thought regarding the alley between the two buildings.

“You coming?” he called, clearly enjoying her measured reactions and responses.

“I, uh,” she struggled for words. “I fail to see the point of this. The buildings surrounding are much higher. We’re eventually going to run out of ‘road’.”

“Most astute of you,” he replied sarcastically. “We’re going to have to make our way to the ground, y’know. I just thought it’d be more inconspicuous for your sake if we didn’t do it at your building.”

“Oh,” she nodded considerately. “Thanks.”  She looked below again and then across, judging the distance.

“I thought you were a gymnast,” he complained, impatiently.

“I am!” she exclaimed defiantly, before backing up to give herself a running start and leaping gracefully across the gap. “That was crazy,” she nervously giggled, once safely across.

Joker raised one eyebrow reproachfully. “ _That_ was crazy?  Says the woman that works at the looney bin.”

“Well, it was crazy for _me_ ,” she elaborated sheepishly.

“We’re going to have to do something about that,” he vowed. “I can’t imagine how boring an existence must be to have _barely_ endangering your life count as the wildest thing you’ve done.”

Harleen logged that away, to be added to her notes later, as they traversed yet another building gap.

“We go down from here,” Joker instructed simply, indicating a fire escape.

Harleen thought of the column of windows facing the outward and couldn’t help but voice yet another concern. “What if someone sees us on the way down?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to trust me?!” he snapped. “I’ve done this countless times without anyone questioning my every move!”

She cringed at his tone, slowly beginning to descend the fire escape. After an uncomfortable silence over a few stories, she spoke up meekly. “I wasn’t trying to suggest you didn’t know what you were doing. Just trying to understand. That’s all.”

Joker sighed deeply. “Stop, I’ll show you.”

She made sure not to question him again, even though they stopped directly in front of someone’s apartment window, the only thing blocking them and the residents inside being a thin curtain. Light streamed from the window and, even though it was shut, she could hear a muffled television.

“No one cares,” he explained. “Everyone, no matter what they say, is egocentric, lost in their own meaningless little lives. Most people would rather remain engrossed in their media of choice rather than take inventory of their surroundings. So long as you keep moving and act like nothing is amiss, no one notices...usually. Hell, I’m only going through as much trouble as I am for your sake. I guarantee we could have just used your fire escape, no problem.”  

She nodded in understanding, recognizing how true his words were even where she was concerned. She was, admittedly, rather egocentric herself, and never had been very observant, outside of her general training of people’s mannerisms.

Without further delay, they reached the alley below where a car was conveniently waiting, complete with driver. Joker graciously opened the back door for her to enter and then followed behind.

“You know where to,” Joker directed the driver, who pulled out onto the road silently. “Ready to paint the town red?” he enthusiastically asked Harleen.

“Knowing you, maybe we should start with pink,” she chuckled, still antsy but striving not to let it show. “Very, very light pink.”

He immediately burst out in genuine laughter, holding his belly. She smiled broadly, never having induced such a sudden reaction from him and knowing how much he valued the power of laughter.

“You’re an absolute riot, you know that?” he giggled, laughter subsiding. “Light pink it is then,” he agreed.

* * *

They arrived at a part of town that most would consider unsavory. Many of the surrounding buildings appeared to be condemned based on their boarded up exterior and the few people that lurked in alleyways did not seem the sort that a person of her standing would want to associate with.

It was the kind of place that inspired speeding through it as quickly as possible, without making any eye contact, rather than stopping, which was exactly what they did.

However, the uneasy surroundings immediately melted away once Harleen saw what they had parked in front of. Despite the high, boarded up wall around the perimeter with many large signs reading ‘no trespassing’, they were unmistakingly in front of Amusement Mile.

Her eyes widened at the twisting track she could spy peeking above the fencing. “Is this what we’re doing?!” she squeaked excitedly. “I haven’t been here since I was six!”  

She sprung out of the car, nearly bumping into the driver who had apparently intended to open the door for her.

“Watch the car,” the Joker instructed him, stepping out himself. He offered his arm to her, which she gladly accepted.

Despite the city’s attempts at safety, the perimeter fence had long fell into disrepair and there were many large gaps, making crossing into the park easy. The menagerie of contorted mechanisms looked distorted in the dark. Such a place would naturally be associated with animation and harsh neon lights. The contrast of expectations made it look deader than a cemetery and Harleen’s original excitement fell way to unease. She involuntarily gripped the Joker’s arm tighter.

“I wish you could see it again in all its glory,” he commented, seemingly oblivious to her state of mind. “But turning everything on at the local amusement park the night I’ve escaped just might raise suspicion. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. What would you like to ride first?”

“We-we can ride them?” Harleen asked with a wide smile, her former elation returning to her.

“But of course! Why else would I bring you here,” he gestured grandly.

“How?” she demanded with exhilaration.

He answered by pulling out a very large ring of keys in an assortment of shapes and sizes. “Why, my dear, I own it.”

“Do you really?! That’s amazing!” she enthused, immediately pulling him to her first ride of choice.

She jumped into an open seat on the tilt ‘o whirl, leaving enough room for him.

“I’ve got them rigged so the lights and music won’t activate, I’m afraid. Like I said, I don’t want to attract attention,” he explained. “But they still run well enough.”  With that he turned the key and dashed to sit next to her before it took off without him.

Without the accompanying carnival music, the gears could be heard grinding below them, but Harleen didn’t care. She whooped and laughed as the ride twirled, the darkness spinning around her and found herself holding on to him when she began to feel too dizzy, until the ride began to slow and came to a halt. She assumed it was on a timer of some sort.

They rapidly ran through several more of the rides without many words, due to her excitement. It was strange how something as well-known as a trip to an amusement park could feel so new and different with a dash of the unexpected. The lack of lights and sound was certainly part of it, but more so was having it all to herself when typically such venues were associated with crowds.

It somehow made it feel safe and mysterious all at once, both familiar and alien. She found it exhilarating, but knew saying so would sound silly to someone like him, to whom this must seem mundane.

Even so, he seemed to be enjoying himself as much as she was. He laughed with glee with her when the rides went into motion and shared little tidbits he knew about each one. She marveled at how he could enjoy something so much even though the novelty of it had to wear off at some point.

“You are _so_ lucky to be able to do this whenever you want,” Harleen commented, hopping off another ride.

“Well, not _whenever_ ,” he corrected. “At least, I don’t think the staff at Arkham are in the habit of field trips.” 

“You know what I mean,” she swatted at him playfully. “How on earth did you come to own it?”

“Fake name,” he explained. “I have many aliases for such purposes. Have to keep revenue coming and all that.”

“...I had no idea,” she admitted. “I always assumed a criminal life to be rather...simple. Not that I’m suggesting what you do isn’t impressive,” she added hastily. “I just mean the day-to-day operations. I thought it was all just a matter of ‘take what you want’.”

“When your operations are as big and complex as mine can be, it takes a little more than that,” he expounded, marveling at her naivete. “This is a good one!” he exclaimed, stopping in front of a sign reading ‘Barrel of Monkeys’ with two cartoonish monkeys hanging off it for good measure.

“Oh, I remember this one!” she chimed. “It’s the one where you spin so fast, you stick to the wall, right?  I was scared the first time I went on it,” she giggled at the memory, stepping inside and flattening herself against the wall. “All the other rides have safety bars and this one didn’t and that just didn’t seem right.”

“Yes, some need that feeling of security I suppose,” he droned in a manner that sounded disappointed, placing himself next to her as the room began to spin slowly.

Harleen bit her lower lip, upset at his tone and remembering her insecurities earlier that night on the rooftops. If she had allowed herself to be controlled by her feelings then, she wouldn’t be having the wonderful time she was having right now. More than that though, she couldn’t tolerate the idea that he thought little of her.

Before the ride had picked up enough speed to hinder her movement, she tucked herself to the ground.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

She flung her legs up so that he was now face to face with her feet. “A handstand,” she chirped back as though it was perfectly natural.

The room began spinning so rapidly that moving so much as a hand became a near impossibility, at which point the wall slats slid upward so that they were off the ground.

“I’m flying!” she whooped. “Upside down!”  And his laughter filled the air next to hers until the ride began to slow. The slats lowered dramatically and she fell to the ground in a heap.

She immediately felt self-conscious as a wave of embarrassment rolled over her, while she instinctively rubbed her head where it had met the ground.

Typically laugher following an embarrassing event was one of mockery, but somehow Joker’s didn’t come across as such. “That was great!” he complimented, holding out his hand to help her up.

“Which part?” she asked, confused but already feeling better about herself as she accepted his hand and was pulled to her feet.

“All of it, but the pratfall at the end was one of the best I’ve ever seen and that’s saying something,” he congratulated.

“...But I didn’t mean to,” she admitted.

“Why should that matter?  Hell, it makes it funnier! C’mon.”  He took her by the hand, leading her to another area of the park

Unbeknownst to her, they had made their way to the roller coaster and Harleen shoved him excitedly in the chest. “I’ve _always_ wanted to ride this!”

“I thought you said you’ve been here before,” he asked.

“Yeah, when I was six,” she shouted back at him, already racing for the ride as he sped to catch up.

“So?” he asked again.

“So I was too short to ride!” she blurted out. “And I was soooo mad about it!”  She was literally bouncing with joy when she reached the entry platform, until she looked up at the large expanse of frame holding up the track... _rickety_ frame. It occurred to her that it probably hadn’t been inspected in quite some time.

“Is it safe?” she inquired, but tried very hard to sound like she didn’t really care one way or the other this time.

He shrugged grandly. “It hasn’t killed me yet!” he exclaimed jovially, hopping into the seat and pulling her along with him.

She didn’t have the opportunity to refute, not that she’d have known how to if she had. Instead she clutched tightly to him as the car slowly ascended the first incline, clacking loudly underneath them. Rather than looking cowardly (or at the very least, lacking in spontaneity) again, she took comfort that holding on to him was a rather normal thing to do on a roller coaster, as was screaming at the top of her lungs for the remainder of the ride.

It wasn’t until the car made it’s way safely back to the starting point and (having survived it) she hollered, “Again! Again!” did she know she really sold it.

After several more (far more enjoyable) runs on the roller coaster, they headed toward the boardwalk, passing many of the booths that had originally served as vendors of snacks or games.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when this place closed its doors,” Harleen reminisced. “We all were. All us kids at school, I mean.”

“Par for the course I’m afraid, my dear,” he sympathized. “This city tries to snuff out every bit of fun it can. You’d think my efforts would be more appreciated. Still, I suppose I have little room to complain. Amusement Mile would have never come into my possession otherwise.”

“Have you ever thought of reopening it?” she asked sincerely, a gleam in her eye. “I’m serious!” she continued after he’d given her a sideways look. “You’re always talking about wanting to bring a smile to people’s faces and you said it was shame when it closed. You’d still have free reign of the place when after hours _and_ it’d bring in revenue. It’d be a positive way to do everything you want!”

He laughed long and hard at her suggestion in a way that felt insulting. She hung her head, confused at what she said wrong.

“I could just eat you up,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes I think you’re so close. So close to getting me. Then you go and come up with something like that. Don’t get discouraged,” he added at the dejected look on her face. “I like that you’re trying. I actually did think about trying to reopen this place once.

“Really?” Harleen sang, face brightening that her idea wasn’t as stupid as he had just made her feel it to be.

“Really,” he repeated. “It was going to be one of my more ingenious schemes, the plan being to rig everything into giant death traps.”

Her heart sunk once again, but he didn’t seem to notice, continuing on with his story. “I had gotten started on the Funhouse. Believe me, no one wants to step foot in there. But I dropped the whole idea shortly thereafter. There was a huge ordeal in getting the ball rolling legally and it included a ton of inspections, none of which anything would have passed after I had finished with it. Too bad really. It would have been hilarious!”

“Why?” she implored in frustration. “I don’t understand. Why do people have to die?”

He stopped and regarded her curiously. “Do you know, no one has ever asked me that. At least, not so bluntly. And,” he paused considerately. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear it all yet.”

She was about to protest but he continued on, not giving her the chance.

“ _But_ I will tell you this,” he began. “Life is a joke-”

“I know,” she cut in. “I get that, but-”

“Do _not_ interrupt me,” he growled. “And no, you don’t. _Life_ is a joke. This idea that anything anyone does matters. This idea of order. That order can be created by you to make a safe place where you have complete dominion and nothing unexpected happens. Why would anyone want that anyway?” he ranted, getting off topic. “How boring. But people try. Everyone makes this their goal every single day. It’s mind-boggling-”

“Creating order,” Harleen refocused him calmly.

“Right, like you tonight?” he pointed at her accusingly.

“Me?” she asked, but was beginning to see where he was going.

“Yes, you,” he declared, unequivocally. “Is it any wonder you never step foot outside your apartment aside from work?  You’re scared to do anything! And you act like if you can control these outside factors that you’ll be happy. Well. Are you happy?”

She stared out vacantly in front of her, unsure of the answer.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” he sneered.

“I fail to see what this has to do with my suggestion,” she stated, putting on her professional voice and finding security in it.

“I am not going to perpetuate this illusion the masses creates for itself,” he finished, definitively.

She nodded thoughtfully and after a pause, quietly added. “Maybe I’m not the happiest person in the world, but I hardly think death is the answer. With that logic, why don’t we all just throw ourselves off the nearest building?”

“Why not indeed!” he grinned deviously. “I’m game if you are!”

She scoffed at him playfully. “I think I’ve had my fill of leaping off rooftops for one day, thanks.”

“In that case, you hungry?” he asked. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast at the asylum and it wasn’t exactly appetizing.”

“Now that you mention it, neither have I,” Harleen realized, having been too preoccupied to realize she was hungry. “I’m famished.”

“I know this place nearby-” he began, before hearing his driver calling for him.

“BOSS! BOSS!” the voice called distantly, searching him out.

“WHAT?!” he bellowed back, irritated.

“PHONE!” the voice elaborated, closer now.

Joker grunted in a manner that suggested this was going to be a boring task. “I have to take this. Shouldn’t be long,” he promised, leaving the boardwalk

“Follow the sound of my stomach to find me,” she teased, watching him disappear. Left alone, she was reminded how creepy the park felt in quiet, dark isolation, so she turned to face the water instead, leaning on the railing.

In the distance, she could hear a voice approaching her, but it didn’t sound like the Joker nor the man that had driven them. As she began to hear the approaching footsteps on the wood planks of the boardwalk accompanying the voice, she knew the person was eventually going to see her.

Her first instinct was to panic. Coming across someone alone, this late at night, on this side of town, in the middle of a ‘no trespass’ zone, all indicated that whoever was there wasn’t up to anything good. But then she remembered that she was there too. Instead, she decided to take some advice the Joker had given her earlier that day and acted as though her presence there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

She set her face nonchalantly and returned to looking out toward the bay, as the voice was close enough to now be audible.

“Nah, man, I told you. I’ll be there in time.”

With no reply, she assumed the approaching figure was on the phone.

“I got it stashed underneath the ferris wheel here. It’ll be cool. Chill...I gotta go,” he abruptly hung up his phone upon seeing Harleen. “Hey,” he greeted her suspiciously.

She would have preferred it if he’d just ignored her, but kept a calm demeanor nonetheless. She felt rather silly feeling nervous at all, seeing as she was surrounded by much more dangerous individuals at work. It made her feel somewhat better that he appeared to be younger than herself. “Hey,” she nodded to him, keeping an air of disinterest, in hopes he’d move on.

“Whatchoo doin’ here?” he pressed and Harleen noted a sincere edge to his mannerisms, bordering on paranoia.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied accusingly. “So instead, why don’t we both just mind our own business.”

The young man clearly did not like that response and lunged at her threateningly. He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around, her back against the wooden railing of the boardwalk which she clung to.

“You been to the ferris wheel?!” he demanded. “Who told you about my stash?!" 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harleen stated in a very calm, soothing manner, her training kicking in. “And I’m sure everything is just fine. Why don’t you go to the ferris wheel and see for yourself.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed in a nervous staccato. “But you’re coming with me.”  He grabbed her arm again, forcibly. “If it’s still there, then we cool. If not…” he drifted off in dark finality.

“Listen kid, you really want to let me go,” she reasoned, her grip from the railing torn away as he pulled her back inside the park.

“Why you nervous?” he shot back. “I told you if it’s there, we cool.”

Harleen read people well enough to believe that he’d stick to his word, but it didn’t make the situation any less disconcerting. And the possibility of whatever was supposed to be under the ferris wheel _not_ being there was on her mind as well. What if someone else had gotten to it first?

Yelling for help was another option. Chances were pretty high that Joker would hear her. But she wasn’t quite sure how he’d respond and, even if he did, didn’t think it wise to count on him reaching her before her captor reacted to her cries for help.

“Y’know,” Joker’s smooth voice interrupted her thought process, his figure emerging out of the dark. “Leaving with another man in the middle of a date is the _height_ of rudeness.”

“HOLY SHIT!” the kid shouted upon seeing him, jerking her back closer to him in reflex.

Harleen couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. “This young man,” she explained. “Is just very confused.”

“Is he now?” Joker smiled devilishly.

“Yes, and now he’s going to release me and go on his merry way. Isn’t that right?” Harleen encouraged the man squeezing the life out of her wrist.

“Sure, sure, man. I don’t want no trouble,” he agreed, letting her go. Harleen darted away from him and toward the Joker as he quickly whipped a switchblade out of his pocket and held it up defensively. “We cool. We cool,” he repeated, backing up slowly.

“We _very_ cool,” Joker agreed, mockingly. “There’s just one problem.”  He cooly pointed his pistol at the kid’s head. “You brought a knife to a gunfight,” he quipped darkly, before pulling the trigger.

Harleen screamed out shortly in surprise as the gun fired and the young man’s body fell to the pavement below.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “You killed him.”

“Of course I did. Honestly,” he strode to the body. “What kind of person goes slinking around this time of night, in a place like this, _carrying a switchblade_ and isn’t looking for trouble?”  He paused in consideration before adding, “...Well, I do.”  He bent down and removed the blade from his victim’s hand. “This is mine now,” he declared, pocketing the weapon.

“He-he said there was something underneath the ferris wheel,” she replied vacantly, still processing what she’d just witnessed.

“Well, let’s go take a look see,” he said cheerfully, taking her by the hand as she limply followed behind.

After crawling underneath the workings of the ferris wheel, he called out, “Look at what we have here!”  He reemerged holding what appeared to Harleen to be several bricks of cocaine along with several stacks of cash also covered in thick plastic wrap. “The kid had a weird system of banking,” he joked and waved one of the bricks of illegal drugs at her. “Party favors!” he sang enthusiastically, but her demeanor did not match his.

“Hey,” he regarded her seriously. “You okay?  I would have thought you’d snap out of it by now. Had enough fun for one day?”

She nodded furiously, thankful that he wasn’t taking the opportunity to belittle her.

“Let’s get you home then,” he said, agreeably. “Maybe we’ll order in instead.”

They slowly made their way back to the car, before he started talking again. “That kid just proved my point, you know. Look at all the measures he took trying to control his little world. He didn’t figure on running into me though,” he added darkly. “...You aren’t really upset that I killed him are you? Do you honestly think I’d let anyone treat you like that?”

“No,” she smiled sheepishly, relaxing to a degree. “It was just a shock, I guess. I didn’t even know he had that knife on him…I was scared,” she admitted, shamefully. “I wish I could be more like you, but I’m not and I was...scared.”

“You?!” he asked, shocked. “You could have fooled me.”

“...What do you mean?” she asked.

“You didn’t look scared. Not at all,” he complimented. “I was impressed, I must say.”

“Really?” she squeaked happily. “I’ve been trained how to deal with those situations, of course, but you never know how you’ll really respond until it happens.”

“Well, you handled it like a pro,” he continued. “I dare say, he would have let you go.”

“I think so too.”  Her face brightened with pride. “Not that he didn’t get what was coming to him,” she added, for his benefit, as an afterthought.

“That’s my girl,” he beamed as they reached the car and she blushed deeply in response.

The driver let them both in the backseat and Joker instructed him to return to the place they had started from.

“No,” Harleen interrupted to his surprise. “Just-just take us back to my building.”

“...You sure?” Joker asked carefully.

“Yeah,” she repeated. “I mean, screw it, right?”

“Right!” Joker laughed, kissing her on the forehead. “And here, you worked for this too.”  He handed her half the stash they had found as the car took off.

“Oh no!” Harleen laughed nervously, pushing the drugs away as though it were going to infect her. “None of that.”

“At least take half the money,” he offered.

“Nooo,” she looked at the stacks timidly. “I mean, it’s alright for you, but I can’t.”

Joker rolled his eyes dramatically. “So you’re going to let me have all of it to do God knows what with? Is that a better solution?”

She drummed her fingers thoughtfully. “Well, maybe I will take half,” she began, Joker handed them to her, appearing happy that she was playing along. “And, I guess, I could turn it in to-”

He groaned in exasperation. “To who?! The cops! What exactly do you plan to tell them? They’ll ask questions.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” she admitted.

“Just _take_ it,” he implored. “Buy yourself something nice.”

She bit her bottom lip in turmoil before giving in. “Okay,” she submitted and immediately became ecstatic having let it go. “How much do you think it is?!” her eyes shone, ripping into the plastic wrap of one of the stacks. “Oh my god!” she gasped at the sight of the bills. “I’m going to pay off my car!”

“Harley, only you could make something like winning the lottery boring,” he quipped playfully.

“Well...I did want to start taking these aerial acrobatic classes,” she admitted, smiling brightly. “I feel like I’m getting rusty and it looked like fun.”

“There ya go!” he encouraged.

* * *

 

Harleen was still feeling a little apprehensive about being dropped off in front of her building, but it happened without incident. Cars continued to drive past and a resident even exited right as they were strolling to the elevator, though she was texting furiously and didn't so much as glance up.

The "I told you so" field emitting from the Joker was strong indeed.

Once they were back inside her apartment, Harleen found herself staring at the stack of money she'd placed on the dining table. Behind her, at the coffee table, Joker was pulling the bricks of cocaine from various places within his coat and piling them in a haphazard manner.

“Where do I put something like this,” she wondered aloud, turning around and running through a mental list of unlikely spaces in her apartment. “Like, where wouldn’t be obvious?”

“Whatever you do, don’t put it in your dresser or nightstand,” he replied, turning one of the packages in his hand. “Or under a ferris wheel,” he added with a chuckle, slicing into the wrapping with one quick movement of the switchblade. Harleen expected him to be tasting the cocaine for purity or quality or something, but he instead placed the drug-covered tip of the blade to his nose and sniffed.

“You’re not seriously going to do all that coke yourself,” she said, incredulous.

“Don’t be silly,” he replied, doing another bump off the switchblade. “It’s going to get the hired help happy and energized before the next showtime. At the very least, I could use it as part of their payment. Save some moola.” By this time he was using the switchblade to cut lines of cocaine on her coffee table. “In the meantime though, no reason we can’t indulge.”

“No thank you, I haven’t done blow since med school and I don’t want to fall down that ‘everything goes up your nose’ rabbit hole again. Besides, I’d never be able to stop with that much available to me. Are you gonna be able to?”

Joker laughed. “I’ll be just fine, key lime. I’m known for my restraint.”

With the Joker’s help, she decided on a place for the money. Well, two places. Half of the money she tucked behind an ancient set of medical textbooks on her large book shelf that ran nearly the length of her front wall. The other half she triple-wrapped in ziplocs and intended to put in the tank of her toilet, but handed the task to the Joker after he became frustrated with her reluctance to stick her hand near the inside.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Harl,” he tutted, dunking the bag, weighed down with a few decorative stones from her fountain, into the tank and pushing it to a bottom corner. “The tank water’s clean. You can’t be so prissy when you’re trying to hide something.”

For dinner, they made pancakes. Well, Harleen did most of the work, while Joker flipped through at least three entire genre catalogs on instant streaming, pausing only to do a few more rails of coke with one of the many hundreds he’d obtained that night.

“Hey, have you ever seen a Keystone Kops short?” he asked when she handed him his plate of pancakes. “Classic pratfalls. Or we could watch this documentary on Rwandan genocide I found. The cover looks hysterical.”

“I’ll take the Jellystone police, thanks,” she responded quickly, setting her own plate on the coffee table by the packages of cocaine and pouring the syrup in a generous, sugary flow.

“Ha! You got it, Boo-Boo,” he replied, clicking onto the silent film section. After only five minutes of bumbling cops, Harleen noticed him dabbing at his nose with a napkin.

“And now you’re getting a nosebleed,” she pointed out, shoveling another mouthful of warm fluffy goodness into her mouth. How she had fucking _missed_ pancakes all these years!

“A licensed doctor, ladies and gentlemen,” he responded sarcastically. Perhaps just to prove that he didn’t care, he did two _more_ lines after they had finished their pancakes and Harleen was putting the dishes into the washer. Honestly, she was worried about what effect, if any, the cocaine was going to have on him. She would have no sway over him if he started becoming fixated and active.

As his doctor, she knew that his body metabolized meds quickly, requiring an increased dosage to even begin to break through his high tolerance. There was no reason that shouldn’t also apply to all drugs, not merely prescriptions. But, like...heart attack serving sizes? No way to say.

As Harleen sat on the couch, exhaling the first cloud of smoke from her cigarette, it occurred to her that the Joker was the same as usual, spinning a story regarding the I Love Lucy episode that was on. “Did you know that William Frawley and Vivian Vance hated each other’s’ guts? Never spoke to each other again after their last lines in the series. Gives their character’s jabs at each other that ‘oomph’ of real, visceral hatred.”

After her cigarette, Harleen poured herself a glass of wine. A large glass. Just to relax herself, as she felt she was getting into a tizzy for no reason. Halfway through the glass, during a commercial break from an episode of The Honeymooners, Harleen was feeling pretty bold and requested politely that he put the bricks of cocaine somewhere that wasn’t her coffee table. Though he laughed, he did stuff the drugs safely inside one of the cabinets beneath her bar, helping himself to the rest of her wine glass afterward.

So, she poured herself another.

By the time the credits were rolling, Harleen was feeling boneless and affectionate. She had snuggled up beneath his arm and was nuzzling her cheek against his orange silk shirt, his jacket long gone. Her hands were drifting across his chest, her mouth moving to his neck since he was comfortably slouched. She was filled with warmth, blossoming through her innards like a thing that filled another thing up, like, really fantastically.

He caught her mouth with his, just a simple turn of his head, and she melted into him like a pat of butter. Fully involved with the feeling of his lips, she was caught by surprise when he plucked her up as if she were a feather. Styrofoam. A speck of dryer lint.

He tossed her onto the bed and she bounced ungracefully, glad her boots were long off. The room spun briefly, but cleared up in time for her to enjoy the sight of his smile when he pounced upon her. His fingers were at the fly of her jeans. For a moment, Harleen hesitated, her own fingers itching to head for his waistband, recalling the jarring experience from weeks previous. 

“Do it,” he murmured and she obeyed, enthusiastic. His teeth nipped at her lips, his fingers ran faster than hers. Her jeans were being tugged down before she had even done more than pop the button. Even just that gave her a thrill, deep to her toes.

Honestly, she didn’t know what she should have been expecting. Why would he fuck any different than he lived? He approached it with the same brutal, smiling, shining flick of a knife zeal. Face-first in the sheets, babbling incoherently, Harleen only knew the weight of his hand holding her down and the shockwaves rolling through her as he went in repeatedly from behind. It had been a while since she’d been in the position and there was a stinging pain that accompanied the act.

Not that she said anything about it. There was no gentle, no tender. Only raw action and a deep possession that was filling her up inside, needing him to dig his long white fingers into her skin and rip her open. Enter her veins. She clawed at the pillow beneath her, moaning “fuuuccckkk” at various intervals into the cotton, very ladylike.

Hysterical sobs poured out against the pillow when she came, after what may have been an epoch, but that wasn’t nearly the end of the event in his opinion. He kept going and Harleen, boneless and in a haze of wine, was ready to be pulled any which way he wanted to go.

The whole hour was a blur of sweat and skin, leaving Harleen sore in a great many places that she felt acutely during her trip to the bathroom afterwards. She’d never really had a lot of sex without condoms, especially after undergrad, but there’d been enough times that she knew she’d be sorry if she didn’t urinate.

 _Christ,_ she thought, rubbing her hand over her damp face. _The Joker is in my bed and I’m worried about yeast infections?_

When she slid back into the bed, he hadn't covered up with the sheet, surprise surprise, and was looking towards one of the paintings that hung in her bedroom, specifically the print of Bouguereau’s “Nymphs and Satyr” hanging by her dresser.

“I keep meaning to ask you what the hell is going on in that painting,” he stated conversationally. “The one with the goat guy and the naked broads.”

Harleen giggled, replying, “The goat dude is a satyr and he’s been spying on the forest nymphs, the naked chicks, who aren’t too cool with having some asshole invading their hang out. So they’re pulling him into the cold water in retaliation.”

“Cold shower!,” Joker laughed and lightly slapped a hand on his bare leg. “But, to be fair, they are right there in the buff, in a public forest…”

“Well, the whole thing with the satyrs and nymphs is an unending chase,” she explained. “They both live in the woods and the satyrs are horny idiots who love wine and women, so they chase and leer at the nymphs, who-”

“-Gleefully turn the tables on them,” Joker interrupted. “Classic cat and mouse.”

“Yup, perv cat and mice with tits.”

Chuckling, he turned his gaze to the painting on the opposite side of her dresser, Cabanel’s “Nymph and Satyr”. “Which means that this one is when the cat’s caught his quarry...how saucy your taste in art is, Harley girl.”

“Appropriate for a ‘boudoir’ don’tcha think?” She had said it in the accent of one of the dancers from the blur of black and white scenes he’d introduced her to, easy since it was so close to the classic Jersey voice she’d grown up hearing and using. Though she’d been hoping for a chuckle, he instead gave a beaming smile and pressed a quick peck to her nose, pulling her close to him in the tangle of sheets as she giggled like a moron.

“You’re going to have to return to return to Arkham on Monday,” he said with a touch of disappointment that made her heart do a big flip-flop.

“Yeah,” she agreed sadly. “But we can have a fun weekend before that.” She was beginning to submit to the fact that he’d never stay put without her there. However, the dread associated with him being gone had lessened as she realized that they would see one another again eventually.

“I think you should play hooky...permanently,” he added, playfully. “I mean, do you even enjoy your job?”

“Of course!” she declared sincerely. “It’s where I get to see you.”

“I know that,” he countered. “But aside from me, is treating whackjobs the way you really want to be spending your days?”

She paused thoughtfully before answering, “...It pays the bills.”

“I thought as much,” he grinned. “You know, you can see me just as well out here. Besides, outside those walls,” he waggled his eyebrows mischievously, “I’m _tons_ more fun.”

“I have no doubt,” she laughed, giving him a look of mock disdain.

He reached down from the bed, searching for the heap of clothes that included his pants. Then he rolled over abruptly, switchblade that he had fished out of his pocket in hand. Harleen’s eyes shone, mesmerized, as he expertly whipped it open in one quick, fluid motion. He opened and closed it a few times experimentally, before offering it to her.

“I wouldn’t know how,” she admitted, looking down shyly.

“It’s easy,” he encouraged. “Just a flick of the wrist.”  He performed the action slowly as she watched. “Your turn,” he stated, putting it in her hand and then taking her by the wrist and helping her with the motion.

She squeaked in a nervous laugh as the handle swung back, revealing the blade inside. She tried it again on her own, after he had released her hand. “It _is_ easy,” she agreed, not admitting that she was initially worried she’d cut herself.

“You keep it. Arkham is a dangerous place,” he stated bluntly. “If I were you, I’d have it on me at all times.”

“I can’t get this into work with me,” she laughed. “You know the security measures there.”

“Smart gal like you?” he flattered. “You’ll figure it out. I insist.”

Something about the way he said those last words made her feel as though she had little choice in the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladrial’s Notes: Guys, I am encouraging each and every one of you to review your asses off. Seriously, it drives Risque nuts! I’m all, “We have to finish this thing. You only have one more paragraph. This paragraph has taken you all month to finish!” And she’s all, “No one cares anyway!” And then we get a review and she thinks I’m not going to notice somehow. It’s the only way to guilt her into action people! But seriously, we love each and every person that has enjoyed this story and assure you we love it just as much and it hasn’t been forgotten. This story is, like, all we talk about.
> 
> Risque Notes: Geez, finally! Enjoy your clown sex, you animals! ...We insult our audience, right? That’s how we show love? I FORGOT, IT’S BEEN SO LONG. Seriously though, we love all of you for enjoying the story and especially for telling us so. (Or if you don’t, you can tell us that too. We want to polish our writing and encourage constructive criticism!) We’re very proud of this chapter and are excited for the next parts, so subscribe and see if we do anything this summer besides DRAAAANK. (Good kush, alcohol, down bitches, etc.)
> 
> Things we care about:
> 
> 1) Bad Thing  
> 2) Peen  
> 3) the other stuff, like, family? i dunno lolol  
> 4) BENJAMINS!  
> 5) Blithefool’s shirtless series  
> 6) texting Gladrial about dicks when I know she’s at work  
> 7) Seriously Blithe, draw dicks
> 
> xoxoxo henchwenches


	8. Chapter 8

Harleen stared vacantly at the open filing cabinet from her chair, before exhaling in a deep sigh, slumping down on the desk in front of her. There was no point in denying it any longer: She was restless.

At what point did her job become a chore? And why did it matter? After all, it had only ever been intended as a stepping stone. One that she felt quite confident she could move from at this point to achieve her lofty career goals. Goals that, at one time, filled her with excitement.

Ride the publicity of working at the notorious Arkham Asylum to become a famous pop-psychologist, with her own book line, some guest spots on television, a talk show. That's what she wanted, right? She faintly remembered the yearning. But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why.

Become famous to impress...who exactly? She was so achingly alone that it was often oppressive. She recalled wanting to shove her success in the face of everyone who had doubted her in the past, but she had gotten to a place where she really didn't _care_ about them anymore...and they _certainly_ had never cared about her.

_There's the money_ , she reminded herself. She shrugged limply from atop her desk. That was true enough. The extra money she had 'acquired' at the amusement park was spent quicker than expected on non-necessities. She found herself making purchases on a whim out of boredom and then almost instantly experiencing buyers remorse, forcing her to put the rest in savings. The only thing that seemed worth it was paying off her car and the aerial acrobatic classes she had signed up for. They were fun and got her out of the house once a week. Ultimately, money didn't seem to bring her the pleasure it should have. Just another thing to stress over.

_You could buy a yacht. Everyone wants a yacht. …Then you could be alone on a yacht._ She chuckled to herself. Maybe she could _buy_ friends. But, if she were to be honest, she wasn't incapable of having relationships if she put forth the effort. And yet, she'd find herself night after night choosing to sit alone in her apartment instead. Why?

_Maybe I'm just depressed_ , she considered.

Harleen forced herself to roll over to her filing cabinet, refusing to leave her chair. If anyone were to walk in she'd appear to be a pouting, dejected child, though she knew she really had no reason to be.

She pulled a file on a temporary patient she'd been given during her patient's absence. An absence that seemed to be just going on forever. Rolling herself back to her desk, she flipped through the file with another sigh.

After only a moment, she opened the top drawer of her desk and peeked inside the old glasses case (safely tucked in the back corner) to briefly regard the switchblade he'd insisted she smuggle in. It didn't turn out to be that difficult an endeavour after all.

_Harleen had driven to work the Monday following their weekend together with the knife in her purse. She placed the handbag in her lap nervously, unwilling to exit her car. But going through the metal detector was unavoidable._

_She hesitated and then instinctively opened her glove compartment, tossing the weapon inside before heading for the building. She marched stiffly toward the entrance, finding Jeremy as one of the guards doing security checks that particular morning. They greeted each other as she placed her purse on the conveyor belt and passed through the metal detector._

_Retrieving her purse, she cursed her cowardice. Then she unceremoniously turned to head toward her office before bracing herself. She paused, clutching her purse, before turning around._

" _Problem?" Jeremy asked her._

" _I-" she quickly put on an act of absent-mindedness. "I forgot something in my car," she stated, as though she were in a rush and had no time for such forgetfulness. "I'll be right back."_

_She rushed to her vehicle and opened the glove compartment. She quickly retrieved the switchblade and dropped it into her coat pocket, purposely giving herself no time to talk herself out of it._

_As she walked back to the entrance, she decided that if they made her walk through the metal detector again, she'd simply act as though she were having a really off day and had forgotten yet another thing in her car._

_The line to get in was a little backed up, as it always was around that time. She tried to look as though she were running late for an important meeting and Jeremy graciously waved her around the detector._

And that was it. She couldn't believe how easy it had been really. And she had to admit that having it _did_ make her feel more secure. She tended to carry it with her when roaming the halls in her pocket. Otherwise, it stayed there in her desk.

"Sorry, I'm late," came a voice from her door and she quickly slammed the drawer shut. Kirkwood allowed himself in, as per usual, sitting himself on the opposite side of her desk with a danish and coffee for the both of them.

This intrusive nature of his was getting worse, not better. Initially he'd just offer the breakfast items, have a few moments of chit-chat, and then leave. It had gradually progressed with them eating breakfast daily in her office together.

She honestly didn't know how to make it stop. She'd given all the correct signals of disinterest. She made sure to put great emphasis on the word 'friend' when referring to him, though even _that_ word too strongly described her feelings toward him. The only alternative was to bluntly state her feelings, something she didn't feel was a real option for her.

It'd be different if he had been overt in his intentions at any point, but he hadn't _._ She'd been there before with guys that acted like leeches without actually making a move. She'd tried the blunt approach in the past, which was only ever met with great disdain, denial of interest on their part and, before she knew it, she had been labeled as a 'self-absorbed bitch who thought way too much of herself'.

She remembered the incidents clearly and it had destroyed more than one social circle in her life. The last place she needed that was at work, so she put on her fake smile and powered through. She powered through _every_ morning.

"Don't feel bad about being late," she reassured, taking yet another opportunity to try and distance herself. "You really don't have to bother with coming every morning. I wouldn't be upset."

"Wouldn't dream of it!" he responded, much to her dismay. "It's just that we're kinda backed up this morning over in the hospital wing. Some stomach bug is going around."

Harleen briefly looked concerned about putting the danish in her mouth.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Kirkwood chuckled. "Eat up."

"Just the flu then or something?" she asked, taking a bite.

"Actually," he confessed. "Between you and me, I think it might be the food they're serving in the cafeteria. The only people who have gotten sick so far are patients. Don't go spreading that around though. The last thing this place needs is another lawsuit."

"Of course," she replied cordially, but inwardly began to seethe. She recalled the Joker's implication on how the guards treated the patients there. How were damaged people supposed to heal in a place they didn't feel safe? The food situation was yet another example of mistreatment affecting their well-being. And it was all just supposed to be swept under the rug as though nothing-

"-Or are you busy this Thursday evening?" she heard Kirkwood ask, interrupting her train of thought.

"Thursday?" she repeated in confusion, having missed a large chunk of the conversation. "Thursdays I attend an aerial acrobatic class."

"Oh, that's right,'' he snapped his fingers. "Well, another time then," he smiled simply, cleaning up their eating area as he stood to leave.

She watched him walk out the door as it dawned on her that she had just missed her opportunity to finally get him out of her daily life. He'd just asked her out! He must have and she missed it and now he was of the impression she would have been game if not for a prior engagement.

Harleen plopped her head down on her desk and groaned in frustration.

* * *

She returned home to her familiar routine of curling up in a corner of her couch in front of the TV with a frozen dinner, feeling rather numb, and unintentionally fell asleep there only to be awoken by the ringing of her phone. Upon viewing the caller ID she could see that it was not only from work, but from Dr. Arkham himself. She noted the extremely late hour and, even more concerned, swiped to answer.

"I'm so sorry to wake you at such an ungodly hour," he began, "But I'm afraid we have a situation."

"When did he get in?" Harleen asked, already off the couch and struggling to get her shoes on with one arm occupied with her phone before she remembered to hit the speaker button.

"Only just now," he answered. "I hate to ask, but we could really use you down here. How quickly can you-"

"I'm already on my way," she replied, heading out the door.

The commute there was much quicker than usual due to the late hour limiting traffic. Even so, she didn't feel she could get there fast enough. She was a swirl of emotions, mostly excitement and pride. There was a situation and they called _her._ Finally, she was getting the respect she had worked so hard for!

But there was also the situation itself to consider. She didn't know what it was. What if she couldn't do anything to help? How embarrassing would that be after they called on her, expecting she could?

She made it to the asylum in record time and hastily parked, haphazardly, in the mostly empty parking lot. She raced across the blacktop to the one door that was operating at such an hour and was quickly directed by a guard to the location of Jeremiah Arkham.

As Harleen neared the intended hallway, she began to discern a great deal of commotion and it made her pick up the pace again. She found Dr. Arkham standing in front of the open door of a dark, vacant room. She did not have to look inside to determine her patient wasn't there, as she could clearly hear him having it out with some guards just around the corner.

"We have a hostage situation," Arkham began immediately upon seeing her, taking no time to mince words. "And he is _absolutely_ irate. We've even hit him with a few tranquilizers, but he's fighting them off. We could risk another dose, but we still need him to talk. It's okay if you aren't able to get anything out of him. No one expects you to, but given your recent success in establishing some kind of... _rapport_ ," he seemed to be concerned with using the word to define what she had so clearly accomplished where no one else had. "We thought it was worth a try."

Harleen didn't care for his lack of confidence, nor his seeming distaste of the word 'rapport'. More importantly, she didn't care for the distraught nature she could clearly hear her patient was in.

"So tall, dark, and creepy couldn't get it out of him? Imagine that," she replied sarcastically, as it didn't take a lot of imagination to piece together a crude idea of the night's events. She peered into the dark room she currently accompanied Arkham in front of, but couldn't see anything.

"This is pointless," a deep, intimidating voice came from the supposedly vacant room. Harleen's heartbeat quickened with her suspicion confirmed, though she fought to retain a cool exterior.

"Maybe you think you'd be more successful. Be my guest to try again," she declared undaunted, defiantly hiding her nerves. She turned her attention to Jeremiah Arkham once again, partially because she didn't know how much longer she could hold it together regarding the entity in the next room. "Surely," she complained, regarding the open doorway with a nod of her head, "This facility is not condoning such blatantly illegal behavior that, I might add, has proven to be a major issue to multiple patients under our care?"

"Of course not," Jeremiah sighed deeply. "But that's not of chief concern right now. Not when lives are on the line."

"I'll need a room. _Alone_ ," she added pointedly, her gaze returning to the adjacent room.

In a flash she found herself in a stark room, with nothing more than a table with a chair on either side. It felt like an interrogation room and it occurred to her that, in this case at least, it more or less was.

He would be brought to her at any moment. It dawned on her that she had just put out quite a front and wasn't sure she could live up to it. More than that, she was sure that her every move was being closely scrutinized as she peered up at the security camera hovering in a corner of the room. How was she going to pull this off? Particularly since she couldn't really approach him as she normally would?

As the gravity of the situation continued to sink in, she fought to keep a normal breathing rate. Ironically, this purposeful attempt at something that her body did automatically only made her feel all the more like hyperventilating. She wondered if they could tell. Surely the Batman was watching as well. If the Joker gave anything away, he'd need to know immediately in order to save...whoever it was. It was then she realized she'd walked into this without knowing many of the facts, making things much more difficult.

Just as she was beginning to think she might throw up and was looking to see if there was a waste basket of any kind in the room, despite how embarrassing it would be, the heavy door swung open violently, slamming against the wall.

The guards hadn't intended it to, naturally, but they were too busy wrestling with her patient to be concerned with manners. He thrashed about among three hefty men, all looking furious, and seemed to be a contortion of moving limbs.

In the midst of all this, he must have caught sight of her, because he immediately stopped fighting. More than that, he suddenly sprung to his feet of his own volition, pushed past the brutes formally restraining him, and raced to the seat across from her.

"I can't be here," he panted, after the struggle. "And they need to go," he indicated the guards with a nod of his head. "NOW!" he barked upon seeing his whims weren't being addressed to instantly.

Harleen had never seen him like this before. She'd always gotten him after he'd been patched up in the hospital wing. Not like this. His hair messily strewn about, a busted lip still dripping blood down his chin, multiple deep bruises. And that was just on the parts of him she could see. The way he held his midsection, she wondered if he had broken another rib.

Despite this, she knew it important to keep an air of professionalism, given the situation, and maintained a stoic expression. "Would you three mind stepping out," she instructed the guards.

The three men looked at one another, unsure, then back to her, before one simply stated, "He's not restrained."

"I can see that. But I'm sure you are aware of the gravity of the situation. The camera is on and you can plainly see what's going on through the one-way mirror," she insisted. Joker clenched his fist as they still seemed reluctant. "We don't have time for indecisiveness right now," she continued, with more authority. "I said to wait outside."

The three shuffled out slowly, one looking to the camera as though it'd give him some guidance. Joker seemed to take note of the camera at about the same time and grimaced, before dramatically leaning forward and cupping his mouth in his hand.

Harleen regarded him curiously, unsure of what he was doing.

"He can read lips," Joker explained, severely. "Because, Lord knows, he just _has_ to be in everyone's business."

"Listen-," she began but was immediately cut off.

"Did you not hear what I just fucking said?!" he spat. "Get your head in the game!"

She immediately closed her mouth again, understanding what he wanted her to do, but not sure how to go about it. She looked up at the camera and shrugged in a way she hoped they understood to mean 'he's making me do this and I have to play along'. Then she leaned forward, elbow resting on the table, and cupped a hand over her mouth as well.

She instantly found comfort in this, as it made keeping up appearances no longer necessary, and began by blurting out the one thing that had been running through her mind all night. "What the _hell_ is going on?!"

"I can't be here," he repeated, vehemently.

"Calm down. Just start from the beginning," she soothed.

"NO DAMMIT!" he jumped to his feet slamming his fist on the table, no longer concerned with who may know what he was he saying. "There's no time! He always does this!" he ranted, stalking toward the camera. "Ruins everything!" he screamed into the lens.

At that moment, the door swung open again and he looked ready for another round with them. Desperate and losing control of the situation, she rose to her feet with authority. "Mr. Joker! Will you kindly retake your seat!" He regarded her momentarily the same way he was regarding the three guards. "You aren't helping yourself," she added, through gritted teeth.

He stiffly returned to the table, angrily pulled up the chair, and gave the camera one last glare for good measure, before resuming his original position, hand over his mouth. Harleen waved the guards out once again before following suit.

"I can't be here," he seethed once more.

"So you've said, but I'm not sure what you plan to do about that right now," she admitted.

"I can't, but maybe _you_ can," he smiled wickedly. It was the first time she'd seen him smile that night. It was the first time she'd seen him smile in over a month, she realized sadly. She wanted to find comfort in its familiarity, but everything was too tense, not to mention what he was suggesting…

"You can't seriously think that I would-," she scoffed.

"And why not? Is that crossing some line?" he replied sarcastically. "Where is that line exactly, doctor? You'll excuse me for being confused. It's gotten _awfully_ blurry."

Her eyes widened with panic and she hadn't the first clue how to respond. "Are...Are you blackmailing me?" she begged, pathetically.

"No, no, no," he dismissed, seeming to enjoy himself. "Don't be silly. Like they'd believe me anyway. This is simply a matter of business. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours."

"I don't understand," she admitted, that feeling of panic from when she first stepped inside the room beginning to well up again. He had never looked at her like this before, cold and calculating.

"Let's stop the charade, doc. We both know what you've been wanting to get out of this. I'm offering it to you," he added, with mocking altruism that made her throat feel closed up.

"I haven't wanted anything from you," she insisted, unable to mask the imploring sound of her voice. "I've genuinely-"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" His eyes narrowed, his voice evened, she found it more terrifying than when he was throwing a tantrum.

"N-no," she stuttered, truly unsure where this was coming from.

"You, my dear, aren't difficult to figure out. It's true that I went through your diary, but the funny thing is _I didn't have to._ It's strange how you'd even consider it a violation, being that you're such an open book all on your own. I know what you want. I've know since I first laid eyes on you. Everything from your fake walk to your attempts at pretentiousness _screams_ it," he sneered. "Respect. Notoriety. You're not only desperate to fit in, but to be just a cut above. It was easy for someone like you to do in high school, I imagine. Problem is, for people like you, that's where you cap. All downhill from there, isn't it?"

She knew she couldn't cry. Not with the camera staring at her. Weighing her every move.

"It doesn't have to be, you know," he continued, his tone suddenly changing, soothing. "You have so much potential and are dynamite to be around! All you have to do is stop trying to be something you aren't. It's like I said before, you've spent your life controlling everything in a desperate attempt for happiness. You've succeeded in it, though you don't seem convinced. Trust me, you've got everyone fooled. Even so, you aren't happy. It's a damn shame…" he drifted off. "But," he suddenly changed his tone again, this time with a business like quality, "If that's what you want, I'll give it to you."

It was all too much to process, much less figure out how to respond to. She stared blankly for a few moments and he graciously took pity on her.

"I'll tell you where I'm keeping those poor, helpless people," he explained. "You'll get all the accolades. Go write a book. Or travel the talk show circuit. Or whatever the hell it is you had planned to do." He paused momentarily, with a look of reminiscence. "Though I imagine you'll have to leave out most of the juicier tidbits. Too bad. Now _that_ would make you the talk of the town, though probably not in the way you envisioned. Anyway," he returned to the matter at hand. "All you have to do is get me out of here."

She paused long and hard, unsure of what to do with what had just been handed her. She could say no. She _should_ say no. But that would be the end of it. The end of everything. The respect she'd earned would be gone. Her aspirations along with it. And, she realized with growing severity, he wouldn't want anything to do with her from that point forward.

"They're waiting," he hinted, indicating the camera once again.

"I-I wouldn't know how," she confessed, futilely hoping that would drop everything then and there.

"So you're willing to, then?"

"I mean...It won't do me any good if it's connected to me," she rambled, a bundle of nerves. "Everyone's watching! How am I supposed to-"

"It's always about you isn't it? Has anyone ever told you that you're rather self-involved?" Before she could respond he continued, "Clearly it isn't going to happen tonight, but it has to soon. I'll work out the details. I just need you to play along when the time comes. We're in agreement?"

She nodded slowly, regret filling her up instantly.

"Atta girl," he smiled triumphantly, before immediately springing to his feet and facing the camera. "They're just off the pier at Cape Carmine, which honestly, you'd think this city would have renamed by now. You have...What time is it, Doc?"

"3:37," she answered emotionless.

"Only about twenty-five minutes then," he revealed. "Fly little Bat, fly."

What followed next was mostly a blur to Harleen, as she was trying to process what she'd just agreed to. Joker was immediately scooped up by the guards and taken away, though he went along much more agreeably than before. Dr. Arkham flew in throwing a mountain of praise at her, astonished at how she'd accomplished such a feat, none of which she was able to enjoy.

He accompanied her to her car and, while he went on talking about breakthroughs and possibilities, she felt every other person she bumped into, whether they be from security or janitorial service, were looking at her with suspicion. It made her wary and unable to respond to her boss's elation with anything more than vague comments and nods.

She drove home mechanically. Arkham had told her to take the next day off and she offered no argument this time. Knowing this, she took a double dose of sleeping aids, hoping to erase the memories of what had just transpired.

* * *

_Get out of town!_

Harleen woke up in a state of panic the next day, late in the afternoon. She immediately felt she should obey this first instinct, that had awoken her so abruptly, and leave. Every fiber of her being knew leaving would be the best course of action..

She briefly considered that she could do so while still accomplishing all she had originally hoped to. After all, she had more than proven herself in the eyes of her superiors. And if she were to just drop it then and there, she'd never have to follow through with her part of the bargain. But Harleen knew that he'd never let that slide and looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life wasn't something she was prepared to do.

And, strangely, she realized she'd feel extremely guilty in wronging him so, which was odd seeing as her original intent was to use him to her advantage. She pushed these thoughts away almost as instantly as they came, because they were hard to rationalize and not the least bit helpful.

Her other option was still to leave town and change her name. Leave all of this behind. She wondered if any of his other doctors had ever entered the witness protection program before. This, however, would leave her with nothing. Everything she had worked for would be gone. And, she realized sadly, he'd be out of her life forever…

Once again, she pushed aside this confusing bit of introspection to focus on the pressing issue: If she went back to work, she would be forced at some point to somehow assist the city's most notorious murderer in escaping. This in mind, she quickly worked through any way she could rationalize going through with such a thing.

She took to writing all these thoughts down, as she found it easier to think through things with a visual aid. The conclusion she ultimately came to was to return to work in the high hopes that she wouldn't have to go through with it after all. Maybe she could talk him out of it. Maybe he'd manage without her. Maybe he'd see the position he was putting her in and how uncomfortable it made her. And, in the back of her mind, she decided that if worse came to worse, it wasn't like he wouldn't have made his way out of there eventually anyway. In the end, did it really matter when it happened?

All this in mind, Harleen apprehensively returned to work, uncharacteristically not rushing into her first session with him. The longer she put it off, the more hopeful she became that the problem would just go away on its own. He clearly was on some sort of timetable from the way he reacted. Maybe she could just run out the clock.

He must have deduced this tactic though, because two days later she found an unmarked, sealed envelope centered neatly in the middle of her desk. She opened it, unsurprised to find his handwriting (as he'd been leaving messages on her desk since _before_ she was assigned to him):

_Doc, I feel a pressing need to share my thoughts. Bring that trinket we picked up during our night on the town. I think it'll help open some things._

_PS - Car keys would also be most appreciated._

Harleen immediately knew the trinket he was referring to was the switchblade she had smuggled in and a familiar sense of dread welled up inside her once again. She begrudgingly scheduled a session for the following day, somehow hoping she could still find a solution they'd both find amicable, all while telling herself it'd only be a matter of time before he made his escape anyway.

* * *

After another night with little sleep, Harleen was unable to focus on anything else but the task that laid before her that day. Roaming the halls of Arkham, feeling terribly alone despite people constantly shuffling in and out of corridors, she found herself desperately wishing she could somehow open up to Joan without any ramifications. In fact, she had spent most of the night trying to figure out the correct wording to use that wouldn't come across as a red flag. But, try as she might, anything she thought of still sounded like "I'm getting too involved with my patient" and, being that she only had the one, he'd be stripped from her instantly.

It didn't help that Joan's respect for her had clearly quadrupled over the past few days. Everyone had been talking about her miraculous handling of the Joker and the fact that she had saved a couple of people in the process. But Joan was more impressed that she hadn't been reveling in the attention, as would be expected of her, deciding that she had matured as a professional. Truth is, Harleen would have loved to enjoy all the accolades, but how could she when it only made her think of what lay ahead?

She watched the second hand tick by in her office, until the moment was unavoidable. With shaking hands, she removed the glasses case from her desk drawer and pulled out the switchblade. She placed it in one pocket of her white lab coat, her car keys in the other, and stepped with finality into the hall.

_You can still back out of this right now_ , she couldn't help but think, making her nerves all the worse. She wrung her hands uneasily. She wished it was just all over with, whatever it was that was going to happen. At that moment, she was willing to do whatever he wanted to not feel this way anymore. The indecisiveness was killing her.

_Maybe...maybe I can get him out of here without killing anyone,_ she rationalized, finding her seat in the therapy room. _That would be a good thing, right?_

A knock at the door broke her train of thought and he was unceremoniously deposited on the couch in front of her. He leered at her expectantly as they strapped him down and she found it nearly impossible to look at him.

"Is everything okay, Doc?" he asked, after they were left alone. "You look tense."

"...I don't think I can do this," she murmured, looking at her feet. She caught him grimace in annoyance out of the corner of her eye.

"Your fault, y'know," he stated. "Putting it off like you did. Should have been quick, like pulling off a band-aid...or putting a bullet through your head. Thinking about it too much only makes it worse."

She responded with deafening silence.

"Come here," he instructed and she couldn't decipher if he was trying to sound authoritative or persuasive.

"...I said I don't think-" she tried to repeat meekly.

"All I asked you was to come here. You can do that, can't you?" He patted his lap invitingly.

He had freed himself of his restraints and she hadn't even noticed. He could attack her right then and there and it was the first time she really was surprised he hadn't, her giving him every reason to. Instead, he had his familiar charming smile in place and it suddenly occurred to her how long it had been since she'd been able to touch him.

Cautiously, she stood up and crossed the room to him. As soon as she had gotten within arms length, he swiftly pulled her down onto him in a quick motion. She gasped a little as their mouths quickly found one another.

"There now. That's not so bad, is it?" he teased, after their lips had parted.

Straddling him, she found solace inside his arms, burying her face into his chest.

"I know. I know," he tutted. She felt his hand inside her left pocket, fishing out her keys.

"I'm scared," she admitted in a whisper.

"Of course you are. Feel that adrenaline pumping? Have you ever felt more alive! You can choose right now for this to be miserable for you...or fun," he expounded. Her body tightened as his hand entered her right pocket. "Oh, good girl!" His eyes gleamed and she instantly felt him harden beneath her. "Ever roleplay, Doc? It's very, very important that you don't break character." He opened the switchblade with a flick of the wrist. "It'll ruin the experience."

The next thing she knew, she was in the hallway playing the role of a hostage. Both of her wrists were wrung tightly together behind her with one of his hands, his other hand holding the blade at her throat. Despite the overwhelming feeling of panic, she managed to wonder at the lack of people in the hall. The two guards that dropped him off should have been there at the very least.

She heard a commotion down the corridor, mingled with a lot of shouting voices, and deduced that he must have set up some sort of distraction down the hall. Optimistically, she hoped that this would indeed mean that they could walk out of there without having to hurt anyone.

Breathing erratically, she was aware that turning the next corner would lead them to an exit and they had yet to meet with any resistance. Absently, she wondered if the facility was actually fully aware of what had taken place and was on lockdown.

The same thing must have occurred to him, because she felt his grip loosen slightly. "Are they seriously just going to let me walk out," he exclaimed in annoyance. "Security sure has gotten lax around here," he said to her, as though she were supposed to do something about it.

As if on queue, a nearby door opened and a doctor carrying a couple of patient files exited into the hallway, his eyes falling on them immediately. Harleen let out a tiny yelp as she felt the blade press in on her harder.

"Perfect!" Joker declared enthusiastically. "The good doctor here and I were just saying we could use a second opinion."

The man didn't seem interested in offering one, if his manic dash down the hallway was any indication.

"Well, that was extremely rude," Joker offered and Harleen couldn't help but agree. There was no attempt to help her out of her predicament, not even an encouraging word that help would be on the way, before he took off.

"We don't have time to dawdle now, cupcake." He pushed her around the corner. "Your performance is spot on, by the way," he complimented, as they continued.

_How so?_ she wondered. Was it the fact that she nearly screamed when they were caught? Perhaps that her eyes couldn't possibly open any wider if she tried or that she couldn't breathe like a normal person? Maybe it was the trail of tears on either side of her face. She wished she could say that she was putting on quite an act for his sake, but it was all completely genuine. In fact, her "act" was only getting better as they drew closer to freedom. She wanted it to be over, but knew there had to be someone there. A guard was posted at every exit, even this seldom used one, its purpose being an emergency escape for fires and the like.

She considered explaining as much to him. That there was no way out without triggering an alarm, whether by the guard or the door itself. But seeing as they had been spotted and an alert would be out for him any second anyway, she rather doubted he cared.

To the guard's credit, he reacted quickly, though it probably would have been faster if he didn't have to drop his sandwich first. It was then that it occurred to Harleen that it was lunchtime, which might have accounted for the relatively empty corridors.

The guard went for his taser, but was hastily discouraged by her "captor" as she felt the blade bite against her neck once again.

"It's going to be okay, Doc," the guard kindly offered, despite having no power over the situation.

This was it. They were at the door. No one had gotten hurt and all there was left to do was walk out. She felt ready to faint in relief.

"Turn around," Joker ordered the guard and, given little choice, he obliged. "Pay attention, Doc. I'm about to teach you something. Say you're in a similar situation to the one we're in now."

_Why aren't we leaving_ , she couldn't help but wonder. _The door's right there._

"Now, you could just muck about, stabbing every Tom, Dick, and Harry you see, which is tons of fun, sure, but you aren't going to get very far that way. It tends to get noisy and messy," he explained.

She found herself trying to will him mentally to go for the door handle, as though, if she wished it hard enough, it would happen.

"So if you're trying to make a quiet get away," he continued his tutorial. "It's best to do like so."

In a flash, he had quickly had the guard by his head, forced it backward, reached around and sliced his throat, with her body sandwiched between them. She squeaked in fright and found her tears flowing all the more forcefully. Her distraught reaction was completely lost on him.

"See? He's not making any noise now. I hope you were paying attention. There might be a pop quiz later." He turned his attention to the door. "Only one more lap to go. You ready?"

She snuffled in response, which he must have taken as a yes, even though she was barely making sense of him anymore.

"Which car is it?" he asked, nodding out the window. When she hadn't answered immediately, he wrung her wrist tighter in a threatening manner, after which she managed to indicate her vehicle.

As soon as he pushed open the door, an awful wailing alarm erupted down the hall. Running out of time, he rushed her to the car and, much to her surprise, indicated she take the passengers seat. Even though she had no idea how the events of today were going to play out, she somehow envisioned it with her being left there. Bawling now, as he took the driver's seat, she realized it only made sense for him to keep her. After all, they would now be locking down the front gates and he'd need her to get through.

With one hand on the wheel and the other hand still holding the knife at her throat, the guards had little choice other than to open the gates for them and he quickly raced down the road.

"That was great!" he laughed, excitedly throwing down the knife and looking over his shoulder to see if the pursuit had begun yet. "You were amazing! Who knew you had such acting chops?"

Harleen continued sobbing, her now free hands wiping at her face furiously. She could scarcely breathe through the force of her blubbering.

"You can stop now," he added, helpfully, giving her a sideways look.

She couldn't, of course, nor was she even trying to. All she could see was that guard falling to the ground, clutching at his throat. She could hear the muffled gurgle he made as he tried to call out for help...or give a last plea to tell his mother he loved her or…

Suddenly, the car came to a screeching halt. "GET OUT!" he bellowed at her furiously, and she didn't stop to think about it, darting out of the car immediately. She watched it peel away from her, the engine sounding as mad as he was, and it quickly disappeared into the distance.

Still crying, she looked back down the road at what she approximated to be a four mile walk to the asylum and, weeping as she went, began stumbling her way back. It didn't take long before several police cars came her way, flashing their lights, sirens blaring. One of them pulled over sharply near her and waved the others to continue on.

"Are you alright, miss?" the officer asked, exiting his car.

She rubbed at her eyes once more, unsure if she was or not. "My name is Harleen Quinzel," she managed to get out.

"Were you the hostage?" he asked and she nodded furiously in response. He turned to his walkie. "I've got her. She looks unharmed." Following some static noise that she couldn't decipher, he replied, "Yessir, I"m taking her back to the asylum now."

He escorted her back to his car, placing her in the back seat, which was far from comforting. "Sorry, miss," he apologized, sensing her apprehension. "Protocol and all that. We'll have you back in no time. I know you've been through a trying experience, but you should consider yourself lucky."

After returning to Arkham and stepping out of the car, she was immediately rushed by both Joan and Dr. Arkham. Joan immediately embraced her and Harleen felt herself fall apart again, much of which was barely audible.

"The guard!" she blubbered, pointing in the direction they had exited. "My car!" she implored toward the direction of the street. "He had a knife," she squeaked and turned back to the road again. "I had just paid it off!" she finished, melting into a puddle of sobs.

"The important thing is that you're okay," Joan said, soothingly.

"And we're going to keep you that way," Jeremiah agreed, placing a consoling hand on her shoulder. "How on earth did you manage to get away?"

"What?" Harleen sniffed, confused.

"Not now," Leland scolded. "There's more than enough time for questions later."

"He told me to get out," she answered anyway. "He was so mad," she hiccupped sadly.

"He just...let you go," Arkham restated.

"Well, sure," she replied. "Why wouldn't he?"

"I don't know," he shrugged grandly at the great mysteries of life. "Why does he do any of the things he does?"

"I _said_ not now," Joan repeated.

"We're never going to peg him down," he vented at her. "Just when I think we might be on the right track-"

" _Enough_ ," Joan muttered, through gritted teeth. "We can talk about all that later," she said in a motherly tone to Harleen. "Right now, let's get you cleaned up and settled down."

She remembered the routine clearly even though it felt like a lifetime ago, that first time she'd witnessed him murder. She was brought fresh clothes that were too baggy; where they were dug up she hadn't a clue. She was brought a drink and shared a quiet moment with Joan, that was far too brief, before the police questioning began.

Harleen described the events in full detail, though omitting how he'd gotten the switchblade, of course. The surveillance cameras corroborated her story. She had to go over it three times with the police and once again with Dr. Arkham. And, in the middle of all that, she also had to fill out some paperwork reporting her stolen car.

After all was said and done, she didn't end up finished until well after her regular workday. It wasn't until then that she wondered how she was going to get home.

"We got you a ride home," Joan explained, as though reading her mind. "I know how dedicated you are, but please consider taking a few days off and call me if you need anything." She escorted her to Jeremy, who was patiently waiting, and Harleen was glad to see another friendly face.

"So you're stuck with me, huh?" she said, attempting to sound cheerful.

"Actually, I volunteered. ...More like insisted. Joan was going to," he replied, as they walked out to the parking lot together.

"Why?" she asked. "Not that I'm not grateful."

"I should have been there and-," he paused. "I feel awful. I'm so glad you're okay."

He must have been one of the guards that escorted Joker to therapy that day, Harleen realized. She had been so preoccupied that she hadn't even noticed.

They stopped at a beat up coupe and he immediately began apologizing about the state of his car, removing fast food bags from the passenger seat and hastily throwing them in the back.

"It's fine," she assured him. "I see you decided you were done with the subway."

"So done!" he exclaimed in a moment of giddiness, before the car became somber once again.

"What happened?" she asked.

He rested his head against the steering wheel, either out of weariness or guilt or shame or a combination of the three.

"It's so stupid. I'm so stupid," he mumbled.

She smiled at him kindly and he sighed long and hard, before sitting up and turning the key in the ignition.

"Okay, so we had just dropped him off to you," he began, as they started the drive back into Gotham proper. "It could have only been a few minutes and...where am I taking you anyway?"

"Burnley," she answered brightly, trying to lift his spirits.

"Anyway, there was a patient with a doctor walking down the hallway to the left. Minimum security type, not a troublemaker, just a nobody really. Didn't even have a guard on him, y'know? I didn't give it a second thought."

"Until-" she prompted.

"Until he suddenly bolted for a fire extinguisher of all things!" he blurted out. "He didn't hurt nobody. Not that type. He just started spraying it everywhere. Thought it was really funny."

"You're joking," Harleen found herself giggling despite herself.

"You're something else, you know that? Able to laugh after what you've been through today. I like that. Gotta be resilient in this city, 'specially where we work."

"Thanks," Harleen chirped. "Sometimes I feel like Leland and Arkham try to coddle me."

"Nah, you got this," he complimented, before continuing his story. "So he was causing quite a disruption, as you can imagine. The doctor was yelling, I knew another inmate could be passing that way at any time and it'd only escalate. It was just a little ways down the hall, like, I could still keep an eye on your door, so we decided to take care of it. Of course, he ran around the corner and we had to chase him a bit. Didn't take us long to tackle him. Guess it took long enough though..." He drifted off, before adding, "It could have all just been a coincidence, but-"

"No, it couldn't," she declared unwaveringly.

"Yeah, I thought as much," he agreed.

He offered to walk her up to her apartment, but she declined, feeling she'd taken up enough of his evening. After assuring him that she was alright, he pulled out from in front of her building and she wearily made her way to the elevator.

_Maybe being alone tonight wasn't a good idea after all_ , she thought, silently ascending in the elevator. Having others around her was distracting, even if they were all focused on the incident. Their questions kept her focused on particulars; alone she remembered the big picture and started to worry if they'd find anything to implicate her.

In order to divert her mind, she took out her phone. There were a lot of missed calls, mostly random people checking on her from work, only one with the tenacity to make four attempts. She groaned, seeing Kirkwood's number along with a two messages left by him.

Once inside her apartment, she immediately threw her purse on the kitchen counter next to her car keys and went straight for the refrigerator. She didn't have the energy to make a proper meal and rummaged around for something appropriate to snack on, while listening to the first message on speaker.

_I heard what happened! Are you okay? I've tried to check on you but they won't let me see you and just keep assuring me that you're alright._

"That's because I am," she answered aloud.

_Anyway, please call me when you get the chance. I'd feel better if I heard it from you myself._

"Right," she snickered. "I've been through a traumatic experience, but let's focus on how it's affecting you." Not happy with what she found in the refrigerator, she turned her sights on the pantry instead and submitted to listening to the next message.

_I stayed late hoping to catch you, but they said you left. I guess you haven't had an opportunity to check your phone. Understandable. But give me a ring when you can. I bet a dinner out will take your mind off things. Or coffee maybe. Whatever you'd prefer._

"Oh my God!" she screamed at the ceiling. Giving up on finding something appetizing at home, she relented to getting something out, shouldering her purse once again and scooping up her keys. ...Keys that had no business being there, she realized with sudden clarity.

Her hand started shaking, jingling as the keys rattled against one another. Her eyes darted around the living room, as she slowly backed further into the kitchen.

"So," the Joker announced himself, suddenly springing up from behind the couch. "Today didn't really go how I had hoped. I thought we'd talk about that."

Still shaking like a leaf, she had adopted a somewhat defensive stance as though she could use her keys as some sort of weapon.

"You should take a seat," he instructed, rising to his feet and indicating she take his place on the couch.

She remained frozen in place, terrified.

"If you need some assistance, I'd be happy to oblige. Not sure that you will be though," he offered coldly.

At that, she managed to pry herself away from the kitchen counter her unoccupied hand had been clutching and stiffly made her way into the living room.

"We'll just take these," he said when she reached the couch, removing her purse and nearly having to pry the keys out her hand. Gripping her shoulder, he forced her down into a sitting position.

"There," he smiled agreeably, patting the same shoulder rougher than necessary. "Now we can have a nice chat."

He was going to kill her. She was definitely...ninety percent sure he was going to kill her now. ...Maybe eighty-five percent.

"I know that I left you in a bit of a huff," he began, still on his feet, stalking the room. "Admittedly, I was a bit disappointed, but I've had some time to think about what might have gone wrong. I remembered something you said to me awhile back about developing attachments when you become emotionally involved with someone."

He sat on the coffee table in front of her, their knees touching. "Did you know him?" he asked seriously. "Was that the problem?"

Her mind was going in a million directions at once, trying to process the days events and cope with what was currently happening to her. "Know who?"

"Who?!" he barked. "What do you mean 'who'?! The guy I killed today!"

She fought hard not to flinch at his tone, much of her mind being fixated on how not to be murdered at that particular moment.

"Oh, him," she replied, softly. "No, I didn't know him." It occurred to her then that she still didn't. Not even his name. It never came up. Surely she had asked at some point…

She refocused on the Joker as his features quickly went from contemplative, to confusion, right into frustration. He rapidly rose to his feet and started pacing again, quicker this time.

"Then what was with that emotional outburst in the car?!" he demanded. "Did it not occur to you that someone would very likely be killed if you helped me escape? Surely, it crossed your mind."

"You didn't give me a lot of choice," she admitted.

"I don't recall putting a gun to your head at any point since we've met. You remember that," he pointed at her accusingly. "But that's neither here nor there. I'm far less interested in the circumstances leading up to it than I am why you cared."

"You want to know why I was upset about a man being murdered in front of me?" she clarified.

"Yes! Exactly!" he exclaimed, happy they were finally on the right track.

"Why would I want him to die?" she redirected at him.

"No, no, no." He wagged a finger at her. "I didn't ask what you wanted. I asked why you _cared_. That's two very different things. I want a root beer float, but you don't see me becoming a blubbering mess because I don't have one. ...You don't, by chance, have any root beer, do you?"

"Sorry," she answered. "But...I think I see what you're getting at. Give me a moment."

He returned to sitting on the coffee table, staring at her intently as she gave his question serious thought. After some time, she spoke.

"It's true that I don't know him and so his passing doesn't cause me any personal pain. But that doesn't mean there isn't somebody who knew him who is suffering and I know what that kind of hurt feels like. He might have had a wife, children, who knows," she explained. "And I feel bad for those people."

Joker sneered at this response. "I bet he went to church every Sunday and volunteered at the shelter too. Is that what you're doing? Concocting a little story for yourself? Do you picture him with a white picket fence in the heart of suburbia?"

"Well," she sniffed, recalling his face, remembering the way his body fell to the floor. "Maybe he was all those things. You don't know." She felt herself begin to tear up again.

"Neither do you!" he retorted. "Come here." He yanked her up by the arm, forcibly pulling her in front of a mirror. "Look at yourself!" he demanded.

She did and was quite embarrassed at the sight. She'd had multiple breakdowns that day and hadn't the frame of mind to consider the effect on her appearance. You could scarcely tell she had applied any makeup and her hair was coming out of her bun in unsightly, sporadic strands. Her eyes were puffy and red with emotional toil.

"Since we're playing make believe, how about I give you my version?" he said, still holding her in front of the mirror. "I see a pathetic man who hates his job, but hates putting effort into getting out of it even more. He lives alone in a roach-infested apartment, not because he has to, but because stagnating in front of the television is more important than taking out the garbage. The highlight of his day is groping unsuspecting females on the subway. How does that grab you?"

She breathed heavily for a few moments, both of them staring at her reflection.

"Don't you see, you've gotten yourself in a tizzy over something you've fabricated? If you're going to go around inventing backstories for people, why not come up with something that doesn't make you feel like that," he finished sharply, pointing at her distraught reflection in the mirror.

Harleen felt herself give way at that point, her body leaning on him as though the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. She had spent the day feeling miserable and for what? The truth was she didn't know what and that was precisely his point.

"You see that now?" he asked.

She nodded slowly, not sure if it was crazy or if she was silly to not have seen it before. Either way, it made her feel better.

"Good," he voiced triumphantly, escorting her back to the couch. "Because you have another problem that needs your attention."

She tensed up again. What problem? Was there a problem she didn't know about? Did he think of a way that she might be implicated?

He walked over to the kitchen counter and came back with her cell phone, handing it to her.

"You have to decide whether you'd prefer dinner or coffee," he said, grinning.

She blushed deeply and buried her face into the arm of her couch. "I can't believe you heard that," she mumbled into the leather.

"He sounds like a keeper," he teased, clearly enjoying himself.

"Don't," she begged. "Just...don't. He's harmless really. Just annoying. I haven't figured out how to deal with it yet, but I will."

"I can think of a method or two," he suggested and she rolled her eyes. "But I'm sure a big girl like you can handle it. Just in case though," he reached into his pocket and presented her with the switchblade once again. He rose to his feet and she watched him straighten himself up in the mirror as though he were leaving. Indeed, he started to head for the door.

"Where are you going?" she implored.

"I know you've had a rough day, kiddo, but daddy's got a schedule to keep," he reminded her. "Keep your eyes on the news if you're curious."

She didn't hide her disappointment, especially given the day's events.

"Don't you worry," he offered. "I'll be around again before you know it. Oh! I almost forgot." He tossed her keyring to her and continued, "I couldn't drive it here without rousing a lot of suspicion, but the cops should be calling you about it soon enough."

"It's okay?!" she squeaked happily.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he scoffed, making his exit. "You think I'd be so heartless as to mistreat your car? You just paid it off." He winked, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RisqueSno Author Notes: I didn't write any of this. Best chapter ever! This writing thing is SO EASY.
> 
> Gladrial Author Notes: I did! ME! ALL ME! Feel free to shower me with praise and adulation!


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